The Epoch of Belief
by Snow Peashooters
Summary: Alfred, proud as hell to be in FIVER airforces and an aspiring rookie with great dreams. England, cynical Pirate rebel and a powerful sword artist with a mysterious past. In a world where chaos breaks and heroic ideals come to nought, what is it that you are fighting for? Fantasy AU. USUK.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Alfred, proud as hell to be in FIVER airforces and an aspiring rookie with great dreams. England, cynical Pirate rebel and a powerful sword artist with a mysterious past. In a world where chaos breaks and heroic ideals come to nought, what is it that you are fighting for? Fantasy AU.

Warning: T for language.

Disclaimer: We don't own anything. Not Hetalia Axis Powers (though we wished we did), and not the names of any airplanes. This work is purely non-commercial.

Chapter 1.

"Oi, rookie!" Someone yelled from behind him. Alfred paused and turned his head.

* * *

_Click! Snap!_

_...Processing Data..._

_Name: Alfred F. Jones_  
_Age: 20_  
_Gender: Male_  
_Appearance: Blond. Blue eyes. Tall. Wears glasses._  
_Interests: FIVERs, Becoming General, Saving the World_  
_Dislikes: Traitors. Nothing else really. He loves the world._

* * *

"What is it?" Alfred hollered to the overweight man running up to him from the end of the long corridor. Alfred stared up at the ceiling, at the bright fluorescent lights, reflected by the pristine white walls around him and illuminated the place all the time. He couldn't really remember the man's name. _Maybe Fred or Freddo or something like that. He works in the…engineering department?_

Fred-something reached him, panting heavily. Taking an already soaked handkerchief, he wiped his forehead. "Man, it's hard to find someone in 'ere. This place is goddamn crazy big. Anyway, boss dude wants to see ya."

Alfred cocked his head, flashing the man a bright grin. "Which one?"

The man looked up at him. "Goddamn, I think it's da Intel one. What's his name again? Shit."

Alfred smiled. "Commander Ludwig."

"Yeah, that's him."

* * *

Taking long purposeful strides, Alfred took towards the office. The Headquarters always filled him with a sense of pride, from simply the fact that he belonged here. Here in these long metal corridors, in those plush leather offices and heavily armored arsenals.

This was the Headquarters of the FIVERs of Undine. Undine, the nation of dreams, where anything and everything was achievable. Ever since the war, Undine had become the most powerful of the nations, taking other nations as colonies. Alfred was exceedingly proud of being born here.

He was even prouder of being able to join FIVER, the Flight Initation Venture Engagement and Rescue forces, the elite of the nation's military and the dream careers of people from all around Undine. FIVERs were the cream of the crop, given utmost respect everywhere they went from both the civilians and the foot soldiers.

Alfred knew that as a rookie, he would likely to stuck doing menial jobs, along with his training. But once he reached his first year here…that would be when he would receive his first Aerofaire. He had seen those beautiful beasts around the Headquarters, mainly around the engineering areas. He had heard the whirr of the engines and felt the winds from the powerful wings. Once he got his own, all the sweat and the tears he had poured into this would all be worth it. Every last drop.

When he sat with other rookies for mess, there would always be talk about who would be next to receive his Aerofaire, and what model it would be. The better your performance in the training, the more modern your model would be. There were rumors among the rookies that there had once been a FIVER who was given the best Aerofaire ever made at the age of 14.

The FIVERs were generally an elitist bunch. Smart, capable people were always on the battlefront, given the glory and the rush of battle, while the wimps lingered with the foot soldiers at the backlines.

But Alfred was confident that he would do well. He was excelling in his trainings, his scores were amongst the highest in his batch, and he always respected his superiors. Yes, he would make it. He would reach his dream, to become the General of the forces, and become a hero amongst the eyes of many.

This was what Alfred was thinking as he reached Commander Ludwig's office and knocked sharply on the door.

"Come in," a calm, gravelly voice came from inside. Alfred cautiously pushed open the door.

The office was essentially a meeting room, with a large central table, and several chairs. Monitors sat cluttered all over the area with thick instruction manuals placed next to each one. On a leather chair in the center of the room, glaring at several monitors at one time, was the head of the Intelligence Gathering (INTEL) department, Commander Ludwig Beilschmidt. Behind him was his Subcommander, Captain Feliciano Vargas who was peeking over Ludwig's shoulder at one of the smaller monitors.

There were five other people in the room, two of which Alfred recognized as rookies from his cabin bunk. He had never seen the other three before, but judging from their uniforms, they were rookies too. Offering them a slight smile and a nod, he stood at attention, waiting to be addressed.

Commander Ludwig slammed his monitor down with a bang and sighed deeply. "You may sit. Since all of you are here, we might as well get started. This is a mission debrief. You will be going to Lerem, on the outer borders of Undine, for this mission—"

An excited buzzing broke out amongst the six trainees. Alfred could literally feel himself shaking with excitement. This would be his first mission out of the headquarters. Rookies, as a rule, got only menial jobs until their training ended and they were promoted to full members. For a rookie to receive a mission, especially one out of the headquarters, it was exceptionally rare.

Alfred had heard that rookies who performed exceptionally on missions could potentially be promoted early. This would be his chance.

"Quiet!" Commander Ludwig's yell broke through the din. The noise died down immediately as the trainees looked down at their feet ashamedly, decidedly guilty at having acted immature in front of a commander. Ludwig tapped impatiently at a screen and a hologram appeared on it, spreading itself out on the table to form a miniature city. "This is where—"

"Ve, this is Lerem! It's a seaside town with lots of really cool waterways," Feliciano interrupted, bouncing on the heels of his feet excitedly. "It's famous for its amazing food, like pasta! And lasagna!" The overly happy Subcommander gave an exaggerated wink. "It's awesome!"

Alfred watched amusedly as Commander Ludwig put his head into his hands and sighed. Before Feliciano could open his mouth and continue, he quickly pushed open another monitor and said, "Your mission is to gather information on a certain rebel group. They're known as the Pirates." Alfred's ears perked up.

"Aren't they the ones who raided another military camp along the Mios last week? The army stranded across that river was complaining about it, weren't they?" Alfred blurted out before looking down and blushing with embarrassment. What kind of rookie interrupted a commander when he was giving a mission debrief? Thankfully, Commander Ludwig didn't seem to pick up on it.

"Yes. We were initially unconcerned with the rebel forces because they were small and inactive, but recently, we have had reports that the rebels were getting braver in their attempts. Last week's raid is the last straw. The problem must be terminated."

"Ve, he's right. If they continue, the stability of our military could be undermined. That's not good," Feliciano stated with a wide smile. Then the smile faded slightly. "Though…the problems only started after _he _left…" the sub-commander almost whispered to himself.

Alfred stared at Sub-Commander Feliciano. _He? Is he talking about that traitor?The one everyone knows but doesn't talk about..._He didn't really know much about this case, but he had heard rumors that one of the best FIVERs in all of history, also known as the previous General, had abandoned the crew and disappeared a few years ago. Directly after he had been included in the gossip, Alfred had been taken into a corner and shushed, that if any word about this emanated from him, General Bonnefoy would throw a fit. It was said that that the FIVER had been one of the current General's closest friends.

Commander Ludwig glared pointedly at his brown haired subordinate before clearing his throat. He tapped another screen and a projected insignia appeared on the opposite wall. "This is their crest.

"The Pirates are the most prominent of the rebel forces. Information tells us that they are the one who prompt other smaller groups to act. In other words, they are the masterminds behind most of the raids that have occurred so far. We have had reports that sightings of them were most frequent around Lerem and Mios. Since they operate several ships and Lerem is closer to the sea, we suspect that Lerem may be the site of their headquarters," Ludwig continued. "We do not know much about them beyond that. Who's their leader? And who supplies them with weapons?"

"Yep yep! It's going to be your job to find out!" Feliciano concluded with a flourish and a grin.

"Uh, sirs…" One of the trainees whom Alfred didn't know ventured nervously. "If we see the Pirates' headquarters, why don't we just destroy it?" Alfred wanted to smack his foreheaed. Even he could tell that this was an unnecessary question.

Commander Ludwig shot a piercing glare at the trainee while Feliciano giggled. The rookie melted in his boots. Enunciating each word clearly, Ludwig said, "You _do not_engage in combat with them." He swept his glare across the room, making the rookies shift uneasily. "Even if it is only a few grunts. You do not even let them know that you are there. Sources tell us that their leaders are incredibly strong, and if any of them happens to be nearby while you make yourself known or cause trouble, that will be the end of the line for you.

"Therefore, your mission is simple. Get your asses there, gather any information you can from observation or from civilians. Be as discreet as possible or you'll all be dead. Is that clear?"

"Crystal, sir," came the voices of six rookies around the room.

"Good. For this mission, Cadet Alfred F. Jones will be acting as squad captain. You will report to him and follow his instructions. Cadet Jones, you report directly to me. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir." The voices came again in unison, but one was slightly louder than the others.

"Then you are dismissed for now. Report back to this office at exactly 5.40pm later in the afternoon. Feliciano will brief you on the details of your mission."

"Yes, sir!"

5 o' clock found the six trainees sitting around a table outside Feliciano's office.

Alfred couldn't keep his butt on his seat. He wanted to sing. He wanted to dance. He needed to tell the whole world just how amazing he was. To be selected to go on a Recon mission only a few months after he joined FIVER, and to be chosen as squad captain! This really was unbelievable. He must be at least on the level of FIVER's most famous prodigy! He couldn't believe his luck.

Glancing around at his teammates who were sitting there boredly, waiting for the detailed debrief, he decided to break the ice. After all, it would be better if they could work well on the mission, right?

"Yo, everyone! Why don't we start off a quick round of introductions since we'll be working together later? I'm Squad Cap'n Jones but you can just call me Alfred!" he grinned brightly.

There was a moment of awkward silence before one of the rookies who had orange hair and dark eyes, the one who had asked a dumb questions earlier volunteered, "Um...I'm Giro?...Haha..." he trailed off nervously. But this seemed to do the trick.

Alfred soon learned the names of the others. Maxim and Jack who were from his cabin, and Giro, Pap and Kotur who were new to him. Except Kotur, all of the others had joined within the past year. Of all of them, Alfred was the youngest, and the dark-skinned Kotur was the oldest, well over 30. He had been in FIVER for over 15 years, and he had been a rookie for over 15 years too. According to him, FIVER only kept him around because he was promising at weapon making, and they were short of weapon specialists.

"God, when is that gay idiot going to invite us in?" One of Alfred's cabin mates, Maxim, said, rolling his eyes. "I hope we kick some serious Pirate butt on this mission. I want a promotion. I'm dead bored of washing the cabin toilets. Damn, they stink."

"Maxim..." Alfred glared at the man with the black dreadlocks. "You know what our orders are-"

"Yeah dude, don't get your panties in a twist. I know, I know." Maxim smiled chillingly and waved a hand, dismissing it.

They sat in silence for ten more minutes before the door finally opened.

"Ve!" Feliciano poked his head out of the office and waved a handkerchief at them. "Come in!"

Alfred heard someone behind him mutter, "What the..."

Feliciano had been eating pasta on the table. The office resembled a overturned rubbish bin: if the aforementioned bin had been next to a pasta restaurant, that is. Uncooked sacks of spaghetti and penne littered the room, while bottles of pasta sauce weighted down stacks of paper. The smell of alfredo and tomato sauce filled the entire room, causing some to choke as they walked in.

Feliciano did not notice, however, and he beamed at them all.

"Ve~ So why are you here again?"

"Sir, we are here for the mission briefing on the Pirates." Alfred said, voice uncertain. Was this a test?

"Oh! The Pirates, yes, Ludwig says they are a very bad group." Feliciano said. Spinning around, he grabbed a random paper from the stack on his table. "Your aim is to search and destroy the Pirates by pepper bombing their base!"

There was a short pause, before Feliciano peered at his paper and said, "Ooops, wrong mission."

He dived into a few stacks of paper behind his desk. The recruits stood in silence, unsure of what to make of this strange subcommander.

"Ah! Right one!" Feliciano said, holding up a tomato sauce-stained paper.

He read off it. "Your aim is to carry out Recon work on the ultimate goal is to find out who their leader is and who their suppliers are. No contact is to be made between you and the enemy...um...Ah! And try to avoid the warehouse by the river. That's where we suspect one of their bases is, I think?" He looked up from the paper and gave the trainees a wide bright smile.

"Ah...your jet will be leaving at 8 in the morning tomorrow. Ludwig says it should take about 5 hours to reach Mios. Then you can walk to Lerem. Uh, maybe you should run because this paper...says that you are expected there at 2.30pm...eh." He flipped the page, and his eyes went very wide.

"Ve! This part has been blocked out! Oh no...something about...civilians...hostile?" Feliciano waved the page around frantically. Alfred saw the sour-smelling red stain that covered just about everything on the page. _Tomato sauce on important documents...what in the world?_

But Feliciano's panic was not to last. He looked around blindly for a few second more before lowering his head. His bangs shadowed his eyes as his lips trembled. _Oh no, _Alfred thought, _he's not- _Then, all of a sudden, the Sub Commander looked up, flashing all the people in the room a blinding smile. "Oh well, whatever!" He beamed and tossed the paper into a corner.

_What?..._was the thought that ran simultaneously through the minds of all the rookies.

"Hmmm..." the sub-commander glanced at the next sheet of paper. "Ve, this thing says that your return flight will be at the same landing station in Mios in five days. So you have five days to complete your mission! Report back to the landing pad at 3.30 in the afternoon on Thursday.

"You're allowed to bring weapons along on this mission, but you absolutely cannot use them unless in times of emergency. We wouldn't want to alarm the civilians there, right? Ve, if your weapons aren't suitable or something, you can ask Basch! I mean, Basch Zwingli, you know, our weapons specialist. That weird guy who's eternally hiding at the back of the weapons room? But be careful though! He'll shoot you if you startle him, and we don't want any of you dying before the mission even starts! And also, you should take the night to discuss strategies that you can use! Any questions?" Feliciano quipped in a too happy voice.

"Uh, sir. What is my role as squad leader?" Alfred asked, hands tugging at the hem of his uniform. This may have been too presumptuous a question, but he really didn't know how he was expected to behave, as a leader.

Feliciano turned the full force of his bright smile onto Alfred. Without any of his earlier hesitation, he said, "Your job is to keep your subordinates in line. Follow orders and make sure your squad follows them." His smile grew sharper. "We are currently a little short on trained members after an...incident, so we don't want to lose any more valuable trainees."

Sheafing his stack of paper in a thin file, he didn't smile as he said, "As a squad leader, you take full responsibility for the actions of your subordinates."

The already tense atmosphere in the room grew chillier.

But then Subcommander Feliciano grinned merrily at them. "Ah, well, when you're in Lerem, remember to bring some pasta back for me! I'm running out.

"You are dismissed."

* * *

Alfred flopped onto his bunk and groaned softly with relief. Who was the idiot who had arranged physical training at eight in the evening? His arms and legs ached from the countless pushups that he had done, and his head swam. He hadn't even had enough energy to visit the showers. He sniffed himself and wrinkled his nose. He stank. It was just great that his trainer had decided that his blond hair meant that he was a snivelling bimbo and that he needed extra motivation.

With a tired sigh he turned over to lie on his stomach, face pushed firmly into his pillow. He was supposed to think of strategies tonight for the Recon tomorrow, wasn't he? What strategies? He couldn't possibly do any thinking tonight. He wanted nothing more than to lie back and fall asleep. But that was not an option. His squad had set the Archives as the meeting spot, and they would be there in an hour. Alfred sighed again. _I should probably maintain a professional appearance while waiting for my cabin mates. Then we can walk there together. Or they can drag me._

Reaching under the bed, he pulled out a torn, blackened book, a copy of A Tale of Two Cities. Alfred couldn't tell who the author was, even the bolded title was barely readable. Slipping on his glasses and flipping to the page where he had marked previously, he began reading.

The book was not his. It had been left under the bed even before he had been given this bunk, and likely belonged to one of its earlier inhabitants. Judging by the condition of the dusty book, it had not been touched for at least a few years. Alfred leaned again side of his bed, squinting in the dim light at the tiny words that spun a fictional tale of English bars and French aristocrats in a strange alternate universe.

Maxim was the second one back to the bunk, having gone immediately to the showers after the training. Alfred watched the tanned man as he stumbled into the cabin on sore legs, wearing only a towel, cursing fluently as he stubbed his toe against a bedleg. He reached his bunk and without any warning, dropped the towel. Alfred looked away quickly, cheeks flaming. _That was..._Alfred knew that he should have been used to it by now, _this was a male soldiers' cabin for chrissake,_ but somehow he just wasn't able to flush the naivete out of hs system. He was also aware that Maxim had caught him staring, and was now _thank god he's fully dressed_strutting towards Alfred, a hand on his hip.

"Like what you saw?" he smirked at the flustered blond, and winked distastefully.

"S-Shut up." Alfred glared at him, putting away his book.

"Awww, is out little squad leader scared of _birdies_?" Maxim's tone was loud, had just the right amounts of patronising, and it had attracted the attention of Alfred's other cabin mates.

Alfred flushed angrily. _That jerk. Alright, two can play at this game._

He looked up at Maxim and gave the most brilliant smile he could muster. "Who would be scared of something that's too small to be seen?" He said slowly, eyebrow raised, smugness dripping from each word.

It was Maxim's turn to turn bright red with embarrassment. "You bastard!" He raised a hand as though to start a fight.

Alfred readied himself for a scuffle.

"Sheesh, you guys! Stop that." Before the fight could actually break out, Jack had entered the cabin. Alfred looked away, suddenly guilty. Christ, just how childish was he? Fights among fellow FIVERs were looked down upon in all aspects and strictly prohibited. If they had been caught and reported, his reputation would never be able to recover. And his dream would have floated away...

Clothes still wet from the shower, Jack raised both eyebrows at his squadmates, running a hand through his dripping light hair. "If you too want to kill each other, you can do it after the mission. Then I'll have less competition. And the world will be a happier place."

"Sorry," Alfred mumbled, face heated. From the corner of his eye, he could see Maxim glaring at him, a glare that clearly signified _this would continue._

"Though...I agree with you that tomorrow will be really boring," Jack said, looking at Maxim. He grinned a feral grin, all edge and teeth. "I wouldn't mind if they let us spill a bit of blood. But nooo, don't engage in combat with them, he said." Jack rolled his eyes. "Aren't we FIVERs? We're the bloody best. I'll bet we can probably take down their entire army, just the six of us. Morons, the whole lot of th-"

"That's enough, Jack." Alfred intoned lowly. Must all his squadmates be egomaniacal idiots?

Jack paused and stared at Alfred. The smirk on his face disappeared slowly, then returned. "Whatever you say, leader." From beside him, Maxim snorted. Alfred couldn't decide if he was being mocked, so he simply offered a tentative smile. Jack held his gaze for a few more seconds before glancing at the watch around his wrist, and whistling sharply.

"Ooh, 9.40. We should go now, leader." A sharp grin. "Lead the way, Al."

The Archives was a library that could comfortably house a cargo Aerofaire: that is, if it was cleared of its mountain of paperwork. Shelves upon shelves of files were neatly stacked on bookshelves, while cabinets were strewn across the Archives. Altogether, it gave the overall impression of organised Archives were never visited for its impressive collection of books and files: it was visited mainly for the fact that nobody went there.

The Archiver glared at them as they passed by. "No food in the Archives, mind. I do not want to ever open a file and find spaghetti in there..." He trailed off, grumbling to himself.

Alfred, Maxim and Jack found the others: Giro, Pap and Kotur waiting for them already at a spot next to a section labelled "How to Train Your Dragon". (For the record, it was a section about great dictators in history. An old guy with major balding issues by the name of Mao was mainly featured there.)

"I thought you guys would never come," Pap complained. "We were talking about Subcommander Vargas and his- er- subpar Subcommanding skills."

"Don't underestimate him," Kotur warned. "I've seen too many let their guard down around him."

"Whatever you say, old man." Giro said, a tad unkindly.

Alfred smiled at them as he took a seat next to Kotur. There was a brief silence. "Uh so, we're supposed to discuss strategies, right?

"I propose that we uh, try to ask around, I guess? Try to pinpoint the civilians around the warehouse Commander told us about and ask if they've seen anything extraordinary?" he asked lamely.

Maxim rolled his eyes and huffed. "Captain Obvious." Alfred glared at him.

"Jeez, why are we doing this? Isn't it just walk, or run, there and ask some morons what they've seen? We don't really need to discuss strategies, do we?" Pap sighed with annoyance. "I need my beauty sleep. I'm going back."

"Wait. I have…a question for Kotur…" Alfred said uncertainly. "Uh…"

"Well?"

"..."

"Spit it out, woman."

"Well, you know...that guy that Subcommander Feliciano was talking about...I'm kind of curious about him." Alfred trailed off, unsure if it was okay to ask. "Kotur, you've been here the longest. What kind of person was he?"

This got the attention of the other rookies as well.

Kotur shook his head. "If General Bonnefoy ever gets wind that we've talked about him... it's solitary confinement for a week."

Everyone waited in expectant silence.

Kotur sighed and relented. "You never heard it from me, alright?

"General Arthur Kirkland. You've probably heard all kinds of rumors about him, right?" This got some tentative nods. "The first time I saw him, I was a rookie."

"You are _still _a rookie," Jack interrupted.

Kotur glared at Jack. "Do you want to hear this, or not?"

After a short pause, Kotur continued.

"I never knew him too well: too many generations of rookies by then." Kotur said with a trace of bitterness. "General Kirkland...I heard he joined the FIVERs when he was thirteen, the youngest we've ever got. Cute kid. Blond hair, green eyes. Would have been real jailbait for some of us here." He shot a pointed look at Pap. Pap blushed.

"For the first year or so, I never really caught wind of him and we older ones all thought he had prob'ly gone home crying to his Ma. But then, he got his first mission at fourteen, and well, no one really knows the details, but right after the mission, he was promoted. I have absolutely zilch idea about what he did to earn it but...I heard there was a hell lot of blood involved. The Emperor himself requested to see him, y'know? That's the highest honour a soldier can have.

"Apparently, the Emperor was very happy with him. He must have been because he gave that brat the AVRO 504K, the most incredible Aerofaire of that time, I've heard. Damn, I'm jealous. That beast, it could clock up to 3000 mph; it's faster than most of that crap we have today. And that was what, seven, eight years ago?

"Anyway, that Aerofaire is unique and it can't be made anymore. He got the only copy."

"Why? Why can't it be made anymore?" Giro asked.

Kotur sighed and paused shortly before answering, "Because General Kirkland disappeared together with his Aerofaire. It may or may not have been destroyed in the scuffle _that _night, nobody knows. And the first thing he did _that_night when he ran away was to destroy the blueprints of his plane and blow up the Aerofaire warehouse. The engineer who made was already dead, y'know? The brat prob'ly knew that once he was gone, no one could possibly reproduce another AVRO jet."

_He ran away huh...So it all boils down to this. _Alfred looked down glumly. General Kirkland sounded like a pretty interesting person and he would have liked to meet him. But although Alfred knew the long list of things that General Kirkland had done for FIVER, he simply couldn't think about the ex-General in a positive light. _Why would he have disappeared? From FIVER, no less, a job which half the nation applies for every year. Doesn't he know that the upper echelons consider him as a traitor of the worst kind?_

"What about _that night_? The superiors, especially Bonnefoy, always try to cover it up, right? So, what happened?" Jack prompted, impatient.

Kotur raised an eyebrow at him. "That's General Bonnefoy to you. And I was about to continue," he said mildly.

"General Kirkland had been promoted to Commander at 16. He was the commander of the Black Ops, our attack and infiltration specialists. He could prob'ly kick any of your wimpy asses here in under a second flat. Then, he got promoted again, to General...at 18. It was unheard of, a kid like that rising through the ranks so quickly. And an 18 year old kid! As General! We didn't quite believe it at first, but well...he proved himself, I guess.

"One of the captains, my ex-cabin mate, his pride wouldn't allow him to accept orders from someone that inexperienced. He challenged General Kirkland to a fight." Kotur stopped here to swallow nervously. "...He was never seen again after that."

The trainees took a moment to look at each other and shudder. The flow of the story, along with Kotur's tone of voice made it sound like he was telling a ghost story.

"He was a brilliant General, even us rookies know that. He's amazing at swordplay, so I've heard, and he was the only one in the history of FIVER with a perfect success rate in his missions. General Bonnefoy was his Vice back then, y'know? Well, apparently they were really good friends but I heard that they argued all the time over the most insignificant things. And," he winked, "there are of course rumors that suggest that they were a lot more than just friends.

"But then as time passed, General Kirkland gradually started to change. I heard that he was no longer as serious about his duties. He became colder to the people around him, and especially us rookies; When we greeted him, he wouldn't even acknowledge us. We thought at first that it was pride and arrogance that was getting to him, and some of us started losing our faith in him, y'know?" Kotur leaned back against his chair and sighed.

"But it wasn't pride. Pride in being the General of FIVER wouldn't have allowed him to leave his position." Kotur looked around, taking in the rookie's mesmerised eyes. _So this is what General Kirkland had made himself to be. A legend, enough to stun even the most skeptical of people._

"Then, _that _happened. Mind you, I don't exactly know what happened myself. What I'm telling you now is a mixture of rumors and gossip from up there.

"General Kirkland was 19 at that time. He'd been the most accomplished in a long line of Generals, despite his young age and inexperience, and he had held his perfect mission record for almost two years. More than two hundred completed assassination missions, it's nothing to laugh at. He was simply inhuman, almost godly. Despite his icy attitude, all of us had no choice but to respect him merely 'cos he was so incredibly strong.

"But then...there was the first time that he had failed to complete his mission. He was called to see the Emperor because of that, y'know? Just one failure, while the rest of us had thousands and were still untouched.

"At least, that was what the uppers told us: that he hadn't managed to complete his assignment. But there were rumors that it was more of that he hadn't _wanted_to complete his assignment, that he'd flat down refused to follow orders and had allowed the target to escape.

"I've no idea what the Emperor thought about all of that but General Kirkland didn't come back that day. The next morning, General Bonnefoy took over as temporary general. He called all FIVERs, even us rookies for a quick briefing. According to him, General Kirkland had been sentenced to imprisonment for a month. We could all tell he wasn't happy saying that, he practically spat the words out.

"We were all stunned back then, y'know? Only one failure and imprisonment for a month? It didn't make sense. Ugh," Kotur shuddered. "I can't even imagine that. I wouldn't even be able to stand that darkness for a day, much less a month.

"And what was worse, I heard that he'd been taken to the Pit." This got a simultaneous reaction from the rookies. _The Pit? _Alfred thought. _Oh god. _The Pit was the hellhole where only the worst of the worst criminals were imprisoned. Rapists, Murderers, Pedophiles...all those who refused to repent and were too far gone to achieve salvation. That was the place where prisoners were raped, killed or even eaten by their fellow cellmates. _Just what had General Kirkland done to deserve that?_

"We thought the Emperor must have been trying to kill him in the worst way possible. No matter how great a fighter he was, a weaponless young boy with a pretty face couldn't possibly survive a month in that place.

"But General Kirkland never did serve his month-long sentence. He broke out the very next night. In one night, he had escaped from the deepest part of our Headquarters, stolen his Aerofaire and its blueprints, and disappeared. Of course, the alarm was sounded not long after he broke out, but by then he had already reached the Weapons Room and found his sword.

"After that, he was untouchable. Those few who faced him that night and miraculously survived called him a demon. _That_was the night. On his way out, he had left a trail of destruction, had slaughtered more than three hundred FIVERs, more than a third of our number. Many of them were captains or even higher. Us rookies had been ordered to stop him too of course, though we simply didn't see how that was possible. I know it isn't right to say this but I'm lucky I hadn't met him that night. I would have died.

"And...I don't know if this is a rumor purely made to increase the drama, but apparently, General Kirkland met General Bonnefoy near the exit. They fought and General Bonnefoy lost, but General Kirkland supposedly spared him because of their friendship. General Bonnefoy had to watch as he sailed through the main gate of the headquarters and disappeared on his Aerofaire. He was in a horrible mood for days on end after that, General Bonnefoy I mean. But eventually, well, the incident was pretty well covered, more rookies were recruited and General Bonnefoy settled into his duties and we got used to our new General. That was more than two years ago." Kotur sighed.

"Nobody knows where General Kirkland is now. We've tried to find him of course, and he's been the source of Commander Ludwig's terrible migraines...but in the end, he's simply disappeared. Like a ghost." Kotur shook his head dejectedly. "And you never heard me say this, but compared to General Kirkland, General Bonnefoy is simply not capable enough.

"If General Kirkland was still here, the rebels would never have gotten so brave." Kotur concluded.

He looked around at the newbies. All of them seemed deep in thought. The blond one in particular, Alfred the squad captain, was frowning at the table. General Kirkland always had this kind of effect on people, even when he was gone. He glanced at the old clock on the wall and sighed.

"Alright kids, bedtime story is over. Chop chop, we have an early morning tomorrow."

* * *

Alfred hadn't managed to sleep a wink the previous night and sitting on the shaky chopper, he was starting to feel the effects. His headphones were starting to annoy him too. Popping another anti-motion-sickness pill into his mouth and chewing it like candy, he leaned back against his seat. The other rookies certainly seemed relaxed enough since most of them were sleeping except Jack, who was concentrated on a game of tetris.

Pulling a hand over his face and rubbing his eyes to get rid of the bleariness, he thought, again, about what Kotur had said about Arthur Kirkland. _It didn't feel right to call him General. _Sure, Alfred was impressed enough by his skills and all. Taking on three hundred men with only a sword was pretty amazing, but Alfred simply couldn't think highly of anyone who killed so easily. Three hundred of them! And that's not counting his previous assassination missions.

The thought filled him with a strange sense of dread. Was that what he would be doing when he became a full FIVER? He had signed up to a hero, not a killer. But then, what did that make Kirkland? Before he had ran away, Kirkland had been adored by FIVERs and civilians alike. Hell, Alfred himself had probably been one of those people. Worshipping the nameless, faceless General of the FIVERs when he didn't even know what Kirkland was really doing behind the name he had made for himself.

_The least he could have done would be knock them out instead of kill them. But then he wouldn't have had time to get away. Yeah but still, killing like that simply isn't ri- _Alfred shook his head, trying to clear his mind of the jumbled thoughts.

_No, _he decided. It wouldn't do to have doubts about FIVER now. Those were simply rumors after all and may not even have been true. It had been his dream since he was young to fly an Aerofaire, and now that that dream was so close, he wasn't about to let it slip through his fingers like sawdust just because he doubted himself.

_Damn it, we're still more than three hours away from Mios and the irritating noise the chopper's making is giving me a headache. Ahhh...I might as well get some sleep._

Curling up on his side and placing his head on the jolting window ledge, he closed his eyes. But after a few seconds opened them again. His mind was simply running through thoughts too fast. He sighed. Sleep was a long distance away.

When they had finally arrived in Mios, Alfred had gotten half an hours worth of sleep, which made him feel slightly perkier. He tried his best to put all thoughts of what had transpired the night before into the back of his mind. He had a mission to conduct after all, and it would not do to get distracted and screw it up.

Jumping off the stationary chopper onto the ground below, Alfred stood up and stretched widely. God, it felt so good not be cramped up in that ridiculously tiny space. Next to him, Giro was massaging his calf muscles with a relieved moan. As the rest of the rookies departed the plane and deposited themselves out of the landing area, the pilot gave them a jaunty wave, signaled five with his fingers and took off. Watching the chopper leave, Alfred was once again filled with a strange sense of exhilaration.

He scanned his surroundings. Overly blue sky, a few seagulls flying overhead, green grass, shady trees. A complete fantasy storybook backdrop. _So this is Mios._

He had always been a city boy. Raised and well-cared for in the bustling metropolis of Jarn, the capital of Undine, he had never really gotten the chance to travel around before. He had of course heard of Mios and Lerem being among Undine's famed tourist spots, with their seaside scenery and amazing food. And after being cooped up for close to 4 months at the Headquarters..._aah, the wind here really is nice._

He stretched again, holding his hands above his head, simply breathing in and breathing out, enjoying the faint scent of salt that tinged the a huff, he swung his hands down and relaxed. This was wonderful. He could see why the Pirates had chosen such a place for their bases.

"Hey guys, take a look at this!" Pap's excited voice rose from a small distance away. The five other trainees shuffled over to where he was standing. Pap was at the edge of a tall cliff, that overlooked the entire of Mios and Lerem. What was in front of him took his breath away.

"Incredible..." He heard mutters from all around him. Incredible was right. The town itself was startlingly beautiful. Spiraling towers, glass cathedrals, and the famed waterways that spread through the city like a spiderweb, it gave Mios a strikingly storybook feel.

But they didn't have the time to admire the scenery. It was already 1.30, the sun was bright up overhead and they only had an hour to sprint to Lerem.

"Hey, guys, the time!"

"Shit, run!"

They reached their base in Lerem, panting heavily, and even then they were more than three hours late late. A 50km run in an hour? Subcommander Feliciano must have been quite mad. "...S-s-son..of..a bitch," Alfred thought he heard Jack gasp from behind him.

It was just as well that the pretty lady with an orange flower in her brown hair who was in charge of the FIVER base in Lerem was rather nice to them. They were offered cake and juice, and a few rooms to rest and get changed. It was overall, a pleasant experience as compared to their hellish run over the last few hours.

_I'm exhausted_, Alfred thought, wiping droplets of sweat off his chin. He glanced around him. _And the rest of them probably are too. _He glanced at the clock fixed on the wall. _One evening wouldn't make much of a difference. Aah, let's just get started tomorrow. _He didn't think he had ever seen people look at him that gratefully before when he gave orders that they should take the evening off.

The next morning, there was much moaning and groaning as the six rookies pulled themselves out of their comfortable covers. _Damn, _Alfred thought while brushing his teeth, _the Lerem Base is pretty posh. I could get used to this relaxed atmosphere real fast. _The soft covers had been a welcoming experience after four months of cold hard bunks and surprise midnight runs. As he eyed the civilian clothes that he had laid out in front of the showers, he couldn't help but smile in anticipation. His first day of his first mission! This would be fun. He couldn't wait for breakfast. The pretty lady from yesterday, Elizabeta, had served them dinner last night, and boy, was her cooking something to die for.

Walking leisurely down the stairs while towelling his still wet hair (Hot water! He hadn't had a hot water bath since forever!), he made his way to the dining area. Everyone was there except for Jack who Alfred knew loved to sleep in.

"Morning!" Alfred called brightly, taking a seat. Most of the other recruits smiled at him, with the exception of Maxim who simply looked away. But even he seemed to be in too good a mood to drop a snarky comment.

A loud yawn was heard from the direction of the doorway. Just as a half-awake Jack was stumbling blearily towards the table, Elizabeta emerged from the kitchen. Somehow, she had donned a dark green military suit, which didn't entirely go well with the large plate of...small sandwich-looking things that she was carrying.

"I made you guys _soldiers_!" She smiled, cute and charming. Seeing the rookies' weirded out faces at the name, she continued to explain as she placed the large plate on the table. "Aah, we just call them that from where I came from. Aren't they cute? Hope you like it."

Pap was the first one to take one and pop it into his mouth. His face lit up. "It's amazing! You cook really well."

Elizabeta curtsied, though it was strange with the miltiary uniform. "Thank you."

The warm atmosphere lasted for approximately fifteen seconds before Jack ruined it. With his mouth full of food, he smirked, looking at Elizabeta, and said, "Milady, you look absolutely amazing in that tight-fitting costume. If only your" wink "were a little larger..." Alfred could tell that he was only teasing. He laughed lightly and turned back to his meal. But something stopped him...

There was sharp cracking sound from where Elizabeta was standing. Alfred turned his head and stared at the ground, face morphing into absolute horror as it rumbled and cracked into pieces around her feet. A terrible malevolent aura started to emanate around her, disintegrating the chair that it touched into ashes. Bangs shadowed her eyes as a frying pan magically appeared in her shaking hand.

"I...I try so hard, a-and y-you..." She looked up. Her eyes spat fire.

Jack started backing away from the dangerous creature before them. S_hit, _he thought. _Have I pissed her off with my chauvinism? _He laughed nervously as he offered, "A-ah, I'm sorry? Milady, I didn't mean it. You look incredibly _manly _in that uniform, fit to be in FIVER, I mean it- "

His apology was cut off as the aura around her started shrieking for blood. "T-that white hair...a-and that attitude..." she breathed. She took a step forward and the ground shook another time. Alfred had already backed himself against a wall, quaking in his boots, terrified of the spectacle before his eyes.

_Oh god helppp, we're all going to die here because of something that idiot Jack said. Please, someone, I'm too young for this-_

His internal monologue was cut off by an inhuman roar. "YOU'RE EXACTLY LIKE _HIM_! I TRY SO HARD TO BE FEMININE! AND YOU-" Frying pan raised, the hellish monster pounced.

The Lerem base was filled with girly screams and loud crashes that bright sunny Monday morning.

* * *

Alfred trudged along the streets, mourning his one black eye. But compared to Jack, he had gotten off fairly lightly. How had he been supposed to know that _that pretty lady _had been Elizabeta Héderváry, the current Commander of the Black Ops, and the one and only female Commander of FIVER? _Ok fine, so I should have judged that from her name and her uniform, but how are we supposed to know that she was trying to be _feminine_?!_

What was a high-ranking officer like her doing there anyway? She couldn't simply have stationed herself there to watch over their mission. Maybe she was stalking the Pirates too, she was certainly innocent-looking enough to pull off any inflitration mission. What was it that the pissed-off Commander Elizabeta had screamed at them again? Oh yeah, that curfew everyday was at 10, and that they needed to write her a daily report which she would forward to Commander Ludwig. And if that report wasn't delivered by the next morning, a repeat episode of what had occurred today would happen .Oh man.

After the...event...that morning, Alfred and the rest had split up to try asking for information. Alfred had thought that a mission couldn't possibly have been any easier but after an hour of fruitless searching, he had been proven wrong.

It wasn't an easy task, this Recon mission. Under the blazing sun and the azure sky, surrounded by countless stores offering delicious ice-cream and cold drinks, he felt like Tantalus, one of the guys he had read about in some weird mythology book. Not to mention he had no money, since it had been confiscated by Commander Elizabeta to pay for the damage on the base she had inflicted herself. Hell on Earth indeed.

And there was something weird about Lerem's civilians too. As a famed tourist town, he had expected the inhabitants to be warm and friendly. Well, to be fair they weren't exactly unfriendly but when he'd questioned some of them earlier, they hadn't seemed to have been awestruck or anything when he'd told them he was a FIVER on a reconnaissance mission about the Pirates. He had imagined that they would at least have offered to let him into their houses or something, but no, the people here were cold and indifferent. Nothing at all like the civilians back in Jarn who practically hero-worshipped any rookie FIVER. This...was pretty new, and not an altogether pleasant experience.

Alfred sighed as he knocked on another door. The door was opened by a young blonde woman. She tossed her permed curls and stared at him expectantly.

Alfred held up his ID and tried to sound as professional as possible. "Good morning, miss. I'm from the Flight Initiation Venture Engagement and Rescue forces of Undine. May I ask you a few questions regarding rebel activity in this place?"

The blonde stared at her polished nails as she nodded absently. "Yeah, whatever."

Trying not to glare at her, Alfred said, "Have you ever heard of the Pirates?"

The young woman raised a manicured eyebrow. "You mean the ones who rob people on the sea? Who hasn't?"

Telling himself that this was a perfectly reasonable question, Alfred refrained from rolling his eyes. "No, I mean the Pirates, in particular the name of the rebel group that operates from this place. Do you know anything about them or what they've done recently?" Had he perhaps recognised a spark of knowing recognition in the woman's eyes when he said that, or was it merely his imagination?

The blonde paused a moment to admire her sparkling nails in the sunlight. _She is the reason why people are so prejudiced against blondes, _Alfred gritted his teeth. After what seemed like eternity, the woman finally chose to answer, "I've heard about them in the news but that's about it. Now if there's nothing else, Johnny's waiting..." The blonde raised an eyebrow and lifted her chin in the perfect look of condescension.

"Yes," Alfred said stiffly. "That will be all. Thank you for your time." The door was slammed in his face.

He walked away seething inwardly. That was the tenth person already. _What is it with this place and the people? Aren't they supposed to be friendly? Heck, even the tourism website says that they're friendly. What in the world?_

Frowning with frustration, he glanced at his watch. It was nearly noon already: he had better hurry back to the rendezvous point.

In the centre of the town stood a wishing well fountain. It was touted as the highlight of visiting Lerem: it had beautiful reliefs representing the different towns of Undine. It was also a convenient rendezvous point, since nobody really wanted to return to the Lerem base after what had happened.

Kotur was already there. "We're not going to get anything out of them," he stated baldly.

Pap and Giro walked up to them, sighing heavily. "Nothing, you?" Pap asked.

Kotur and Alfred shook their heads.

Jack and Maxim came soon after. Jack was nursing his sore wrist, while Maxim was continuously ranting. His loud voice was attracting attention, and Jack tried (unsuccessfully) to shush him. "These stupid townspeople won't tell us anything. I tried threatening one but he just ran off in a hurry."

"Er, well...Maxim, if you threaten someone they do normally try to get away," Alfred pointed out.

"Whatever, you know what I mean," Maxim sneered.

"So what shall we do now?" Kotur asked impatiently. "We'll have to change tactics, that much is obvious."

Giro opened his mouth to say something, but he was interrupted when a little boy bumped into him. He was around seven years old and had brown hair and brown eyes, typical of one from Lerem. Giro patted his head. "Run along, kid. We're discussing matters of importance here."

The child looked up at them with unbelievably watery puppy eyes. "I want my mommy," the child cried.

Alfred approached the boy. "Where's your mommy?" he asked gently. Behind him he could practically feel the waves of annoyance and disapproval radiating from Maxim.

"I don't know!" the child wailed. "Mommy told me to stay there but she didn't after five minutes so I thought evil people had kidnapped her and then I wandered here and I can't find her!"

"It's alright, we'll find your mommy." Alfred said soothingly. "Where did she ask you to wait?"

"Outside the marketplace," the boy sobbed.

"Come along, then." Alfred said, taking his hand. "What's your name?"

"Doug," the boy said. "Thank you, nice man."

"What is our great squad leader doing? Helping out little kids?" Alfred heard Maxim snort from behind.

"Quiet, Maxim." Kotur said. "It's more productive than anything we've been doing. Maybe his mother would be more willing to open up."

Alfred and the five of them wandered through the meandering streets of Lerem. The marketplace was situated quite a way off, leaving Alfred to wonder how long Doug had been walking.

"What does your mommy look like?" Alfred asked Doug.

"She has a red dress, and she's pretty." Doug said.

"Well, that really narrowed it down." Pap commented. "How are we supposed to find his mother?"

Doug looked ready to cry again when Alfred reassured him, "Don't worry, we'll find her."

When they got to the marketplace, they searched the surrounding area. Finally, as they passed a deserted alley, Doug shrieked and ran into the alley. Alfred and the rest followed him, where a lady in red dress was searching anxiously, tears in her eyes. When her eyes alighted on Doug, she ran forward, sighed in relief and hugged him tightly.

"Doug! I told you to stay here! Do you know how worried I was?"

"Sorry, mommy," Doug said, his voice muffled from the hug he was tightly enfolded in.

"I can't thank you enough, young man," She said, beaming at Alfred.

Alfred saluted. "No problem, ma'am, we are FIVERs after all!"

The smile disappeared completely from her face, replaced by something Alfred couldn't quite discern. Suspicion? Or maybe simply indifference. Whatever it was, it was a far cry from the warmth that had emanated from the mother-child pair moments ago. "You are FIVERs?"

Beside her, Doug stared up at the six rookies with fear in his eyes. "F-FIVERs?" he whispered to himself and started to cry again. "Mommy, aren't they the bad men who took away my best kite and threatened to cut off my—my—"

"Ma'am?" Alfred asked uncertainly. The rest of the group stepped up around him, forming a sort of semi-circle around the woman. She didn't seem to notice them, and instead glared at him. "Let me tell you something about FIVERs and all you military dogs. They are jerks at best and murderers at their worst. They come to town often and they always extort money from us and… worse." She shielded her son protectively.

"Why you-" Jack spat, drawing a knife. "We're nothing lik-"

"Step down, Jack." Alfred ordered, glaring at him fiercely. It wouldn't do cause that big a spectacle here. Turning to the woman, he tried to pacify her. "I'm sorry for what happened to your son, but please believe me, not all of us are like that. Please, ma'am, we're only here to gather information about this rebel group called the Pirates. Will you help us-"

"Help you?" she asked incredulously. "Help you find the Pirates so you can kill them like pigs? The Pirates are what keeps our town functioning. They protect us against soldier crap like you. They're the police of our town. Why should I help you?"

Alfred couldn't do anything but stare down at her, seriously tongue-tied. _How many more people feel this way about us...?_

The woman took another glance at her bawling son and sneered. "I wish all you FIVERs and your goddamn Emperor could burn in hell." She spat.

"How dare you say that against your Emperor?!" Jack's temper finally snapped. Swinging his dagger, he charged at her, bloodlust in his eyes. Alfred ran forward, colliding painfully with Jack.

"Wait, wait, stop and think," Alfred shouted, holding a struggling Jack back. On a good day, Alfred would have a harder time, but Jack had been out of it ever since Commander Héderváry had unleashed her anger.

"There is no thinking, squad leader." Kotur said grimly. "This is High Treason. She deserves to be burnt for it. What we're doing now… it's a mercy."

The woman stared up at them, trembling but defiant. Doug started to cry, his voice loud and earnest. "Please don't!" he screamed.

"That kid is annoying." Pap said in a clear and carrying voice. "Please, let's kill them."

"No!" Alfred shouted, but he found Giro and Jack were restraining him now, instead of the other way around. "Sorry, squad leader," Giro said, actually sounding apologetic. "I suppose you've been… outvoted. We, FIVERs, can't just stand back and watch our Emperor being defamed."

The rest rushed towards the woman, who screamed and blocked her son, but before they could actually do anything more than grab their weapons, a knife whistled past Maxim's ear.

"What the f—" Maxim swore as they turned around.

A child with striking violet eyes and silver hair stood at the end of the alley. He was wearing a strange cloak of some sort over his red jacket but the Pirate's insignia was clear and stark on the blackness of his cloak. He showed no outward emotions as he intoned lowly, "This is Pirates' territory, FIVERs. Get lost, or you'll regret it."

Alfred turned back to see Doug and his mother running to the other end of the alley to escape. He smiled to himself. Good.

Kotur laughed. "Oh? You and whose army?"

The Pirate looked around, suddenly noticing that he was alone and very much outnumbered.

"I figured I didn't really need to do a thing since you could probably kill yourselves with your own stupidity," the Pirate commented. "It has happened to FIVERs before."

"Right," Maxim snorted, and they charged.

"Wait, guys!" Alfred yelled as he tried to stop the one nearest to him, Pap, but was knocked away in the flurry of movement.

The Pirate didn't stand much of a chance, considering that the FIVERs were armed, and he was outnumbered five to one. Still, he gave a damn good fight.

As Maxim came running towards him, the Pirate dodged neatly and he crashed into a trash bin with enough force to dent it. Pap and Kotur were next, running from two different directions. The kid threw a roundhouse kick at Pap, pushing him a meter back, before he whirled on Kotur. His knife flashed out, and Kotur swore loudly as he felt the slash of a knife on his arm. Damn, the kid was quick. Still, they continued- FIVER training ensured that they could withstand the pain.

Jack and Giro joined the fight, and they slowly overwhelmed the Pirate. From the groans and screams of the Pirate, they were doing a pretty good job. Maxim had recovered enough to join the fight, and he was screaming for vengeance- Alfred could practically hear it in every punch Maxim executed. After all, Maxim had been top in Hand to Hand Combat Class.

Alfred stood at the perimeter of the fight, hesitating. This sure wasn't what he signed up for. When he had signed up, he envisioned him saving towns from evil men. Not a five-on-one uneven fight with a kid. Neither did he sign for killing innocent civilians, which his squad mates had absolutely no qualms about doing. But...he couldn't exactly stop them either, since the minimum punishment for rebels was torture and death, even for a young boy like the one they were facing.

Finally, the Pirate was knocked out cold. They left him there where he lay, as they discussed what to do with him. Alfred stared at the badly beaten kid. His right arm had been stabbed and was twisted at an awkward angle, blood trickled down his forehead and out of his nose. _He wouldn't be able to throw another knife for a long while._

_But since we finally have someone who can 'volunteer' information..._"We should question him on Pirate activities." Alfred said, but he found himself ignored by the rest of his squad mates.

"Let's kill him." Jack grinned eagerly. "Filthy brat. He got his blood all over my clothes. Let's do it slow-." He was cut off by a knife that entered his chest.

Alfred gaped at the intricately designed knife. Like a mannequin, Jack fell awkwardly to the ground, sprawled over his own arms, blood seeping into the grass below. His eyes were wide open with shock, and Alfred stared into them just hard enough to see the last semblances of light dimming from them.

_He's...dead? _Alfred looked on blankly. He didn't really dare to think. At any other moment, he might have laughed at his own patheticness. Really, for all his bravado at being a FIVER, for all his anticipation at being on the battlefield, he couldn't even stand one dead body? What was wrong with him? But at that moment, he could think of nothing else than the fact that Jack had died. He hadn't really liked Jack, but still...he had known him for four months. Surely that counted for something?

_Wake up, you fool. _His brain supplied for him. _If he's dead, it means someone _killed _him. And that someone may kill you too. _Pulling himself from his stupor, Alfred stored the piece of information that Jack was dead deep within his mind. It had been one of the first things that his instructors back at the headquarters had taught him, the _how to clear your mind when you see a comrade die _lesson.

"...Cap'n..." He heard the violet-eyed Pirate boy mumble weakly from behind him. A Captain? Of the Pirates? Remembering what Commander Ludwig had told them about the strength of the leaders of the Pirates, he couldn't help but curse at the stupidity of his squadmates. They were really in deep shit now.

He scanned the buildings around them but couldn't see anyone suspicious. Around him, the other rookies were backing up too, pistols in hand, glancing nervously at their surroundings. This was no joke, and their petrified expressions that mirrored the one on Alfred's own face said it all.

The silence around them was oppressing and carried the question of who would go next. Pap was the first one to break. Sobbing frantically while dropping his gun, he pulled a small knife and leapt for the dazed white-haired kid behind them. "Don't hurt me! Or he gets it!" He screamed, voice breaking in panic, as he hefted the badly beaten boy upright, ignoring the boy's whimpers of pain. He pressed the knife against the boy's neck, deep enough to draw a thin line of blood.

"Don't provoke him!" Kotur looked around and hissed wide-eyed at Pap, but the trembling shaking FIVER didn't seem to register it.

"I'll kill him if you touch me!" Pap shrieked again, dilated pupils darting around, too near hysterics to listen to anything at all.

Even in his terror, Alfred couldn't help but feel disgust for his squadmate for dropping so low. What he had done had completely tarnished FIVER's reputation. He could almost hear Subcommander Feliciano's words whispering in his mind. _"As a squad leader, you take full responsibility for the actions of your subordinates." _Even if they survived this ordeal, once he got back to the Headquarters, he might as well pack his bags and go home. There would no longer be any future for him down that path.

Sweat trickling down his cheeks, he swept his gaze across his surroundings again. There was utter silence, broken only by Pap's ragged sobs and a gurgle-

Alfred turned around, just in time to watch incredulously as Pap's detached head rolled across the ground to land at his feet. Pap's body was still acting on autopilot, but he had dropped the boy, and his hands were fumbling at the empty space his head had once been. Blood spurted from the stump of his neck. It seemed like eternity before his body finally fell, lifeless, to the ground, and his blood mingled with Jack's. Alfred felt sick. He needed to throw up, but he also knew that this wasn't the time.

"THERE!" He head Giro scream and point. He looked.

A hooded figure, balanced precariously on a lamppost. The black cloak on which the insignia was printed swirled around its rather androgynous body. It held a large rapier in its right hand, the tip dripping with blood. _Pap's blood, _Alfred realised with distinct horror, and a trace of rage. The figure in the hood lifted its chin. Alfred caught a flash of green within the shadow cast by its hood. _Great. If I could just survive this, I could at least report back that one of the Captains of the Pirates has green eyes. If. Big if. _

Beside him, he heard Kotur hiss a sharp intake of breath. "Y-You!" He yelled at the figure, voice tinged with terror and a healthy dose of desperation. Alfred spared him a glance. He knew the enemy? He looked on in shock as Kotur dropped his pistol and fell to his knees, the picture of complete surrender. "Y-You're-Why would you-Please spare u-" He didn't get the chance to complete a sentence before a knife shot through the air, plunging into his back. He made a sharp keening sound and collapsed.

Then there were three. Anger overtook Alfred. Even if he hadn't particularly like his squadmates, the Pirate had just killed them like they were nothing more than cockroaches. Anyone like that, who didn't even understand the value of life, didn't deserve anything. "Fire!" He yelled, aiming his gun at the hooded figure and firing continuously. His teammates joined in as gunshots resounded loudly, echoing in the very silent background.

But their bullets didn't even seem to reach the Pirate. It leapt down from the lamppost, landing lightly on the ground before sprinting towards them, both hands on its rapier. With a heavy jerk, it disarmed Alfred and knocked him to the ground , before spinning around to slash Giro across the chest and kicking him away like a ragdoll. If Alfred hadn't been so stunned, he would have thought that the graceful swordplay was beautiful, almost like a dance of some sort.

Maxim yelled something unintelligibly as he fired his last bullet at point-blank range. The Pirate dodged as best as it could but the bullet caught him in his left shoulder. The Pirate gasped in pain as it stumbled but not before dodging another one of Maxim's punches. Cursing heavily under its breath as its left arm fell limply to the side, it stabbed Maxim with his rapier, controlling the heavy-looking piece of metal perfectly with its right hand.

And then there was one. The Pirate turned to Alfred. Alfred's mind was pathetically blank. He didn't have anymore weapons on him and even if he did, it was impossible for him to get out of this situation. _Oh, oh shit. I'm going to die. On my first mission. I haven't even gotten promoted, I'll never make it to General...oh god, no. _His mind started babbling in a surge of panic.

The hooded figure twirled its rapier casually in its right hand, as if deliberating something. Then finally, he spoke in a tone that screamed utter confidence, "You are the leader, are you not?" His low voice was smooth and clipped and, Alfred realised with a jolt, the type of voice nobles used to speak their flowery language. _A noble? But what would a rich kid be doing with a rebel group like the Pirates? _It was only when the Pirate prodded him impatiently with the tip of his sword that Alfred remembered that he'd been asked a question.

Refusing to reply, he glared at the Pirate Captain. But instead of getting annoyed like Alfred thought he would, the man simply laughed. "God only knows what they're teaching recruits nowadays. Yes, you are the leader," he answered his own question. Calmly, smoothly, he sheathed his sword. And in the same movement, with a quick expert swipe of his wrist, two knives flew towards Alfred, embedding themselves in the thick material of his jacket, effectively pinning him to the wall. It would take Alfred an eternity to admit it but he had probably emitted a very unmanly squeak.

The Pirate sighed and lowered his hood, revealing a crown of messy spiky dark blond hair, thick eyebrows and intense green eyes. Alfred realised with a start that the Captain was hardly older than he was, yet he had handled the sword like he'd used it for more than half his life.

The Pirate Captain turned to one end of the alley, took a deep breath and bellowed, "OYYY! SPAIN! ROMANO! HURRY THE BLOODY HELL UP!" before wincing, muttering something that rhymed with 'duck' under his breath, and clutching his injured shoulder. Alfred, though startled by the his sudden change in demeanor, turned to where the Pirate was yelling towards. Sure enough, a pair of brown haired men appeared around the corner soon afterwards.

"You're too fast." The shorter one muttered sullenly, the curl on his forehead bobbing up and down. Alfred squinted at him and out of the blue, realised why he looked so familiar.

"Feliciano?" he asked, speaking for the first time since his capture.

The shorter Pirate turned and raised an eyebrow at him. "That's my brother. Another FIVER, huh. You morons are showing up around here like moths to a flame." Alfred gaped. _His brother? His brother is in FIVER? Then what is he doing with the Pirates?_

The taller brown-haired man simply looked upon the events with a bright smile, reminding Alfred way too much of a certain aforementioned Subcommander. "What should we do with him, England? Eh? You're injured?" he asked, noticing the blood that seeped through the cloak the blond captain was wearing. He didn't sound concerned, only amused. The Captain rolled his eyes in dismissal.

Alfred turned to the Captain and frowned. "England? As in the name of the country from that series of fictional books?"

Romano was the one who answered him. "An educated FIVER. Well, this is a rare find. And yes, England is the name of a place on Earthland. As are Spain and Romano."

The Pirate Captain, whose name seemed to be England, sighed and snapped his fingers, drawing attention back to him. "Stop fraternising with the enemy, Romano. He is their-", a quick gesture to the dead bodies littering the ground, "leader so he should might know something about Bonnefoy's plans."

Alfred stiffened. "If you think I'll volunteer information about anything, you're mistaken-"

England cut him off with a wave of his hand and a knowing smirk. "That is what they all say." He glanced backwards at the silver-haired Pirate kid who was still on the ground, oblivious to the world, before turning to Romano and Spain. Eyeing Alfred, he said, "Restrain him and take him to our interrogation base. And call for men to clean up this place."

Walking over, he picked the unconscious silver-haired boy up with one hand and threw him over his shoulder. "I'll take Iceland to Belgium. Hopefully his arm is still salvageable."

**End Chapter 1.**

* * *

**AN: That would be the first chapter (you don't say.) Anyway, we will **_**try**_** to update often, but unfortunately, inspiration happened to hit Bel just as we hit finals. *glare glare* So we are (attempting to) study more.**

**Thank you and please review and continue to support us!**


	2. Chapter 2

Summary: Alfred, proud as hell to be in FIVER airforces and an aspiring rookie with great dreams. England, cynical Pirate rebel and a powerful sword artist with a mysterious past. In a world where chaos breaks and heroic ideals come to nought, what is it that you are fighting for? Fantasy AU.

Warning: T for language.

Disclaimer: We don't own anything. Not Hetalia Axis Powers (though we wished we did), and not the names of any airplanes. This work is purely non-commercial.

* * *

Chapter 2

Alfred found his wrists bound in front of him by thick rope. He grunted, trying to wriggle out of it, to no avail. Come on, he thought frantically, what had his instructors said about being captured?

His instructors had never gone through, "The Art of being Captured", aside from a rather ominous: "Go down fighting." Well, he had probably messed that one up. Alfred supposed that the next step would be to not say anything about FIVER to the enemies. He straightened his back and stood up straight (or at least, as straight as he could with the two knives still pinning him in place). He wouldn't say anything, no matter what they did to him. He was a hero! He wouldn't break no matter what.

Romano grinned at him while searching through his pockets for weapons. "Well, it's been a while since we caught a FIVER... alive." Romano said. "Boy, England will have so much fun with you!" The other man- Spain- just smiled brightly at him, which made it all the more scary.

Alfred gulped. Visions of torture began to creep through his mind, courtesy of all those horror movies he watched with Matthew, his brother. They could water-board him, or hang him from the ceiling by his arms and dislocate his shoulders. They could electrocute him, or cut off his fingers, one by one, as he bled slowly to death. They could-

"Cheer up!" Spain said, patting Alfred's bound arms. "At least you'll be in the dungeons so you won't have to taste England's cooking! It's his turn in the kitchen tonight...oh man." Spain's smile turned rather strained.

That was... comforting, Alfred thought. Bloody hell, why were these two so... cheerful? It was freaking him out.

"SPAIN! ROMANO!" England's voice came drifting down the alley. "What's taking you so long?" England's voice began fading, as if he was walking away.

"Coming, coming," Romano grumbled, expertly removing a knife from Alfred's jacket. As if on cue, Spain and Romano grabbed Alfred's arm in tandem. "If you so much as dare struggle," Romano told Alfred, waving the knife he had just retrieved, "I will stick this knife into your ribs. It won't kill, but it'll hurt. A lot." Alfred nodded uneasily as both of them began frog marching him through the streets of Lerem.

To Alfred's shock, the townspeople knew the Pirates. They greeted Spain and Romano with an "Afternoon", and glared at Alfred. Alfred heard the whispers, "Another of those FIVER scum." An old man spat.

"Hey, weren't they asking about the Pirates today? Hah! Serves them right!" A young teenage girl laughed to her friend.

"Wasn't there more? I thought there were at least three..." A middle-aged woman whispered.

Why would FIVERs not be welcome in Lerem? FIVERs were worshipped in Jarn, his old town, and in the capital. They were revered as the elite of Undine's army, the very best of its special forces. What had FIVERs done to this town that made them so hostile towards them?

Alfred hung his head as the wave of negative emotions and comments washed over him. He had worked so hard for the past decade of his life just for this? This wasn't...wasn't what he had hoped for. He was so caught up in his own thoughts, he had forgotten to keep track of his surroundings, not that it helped, because as they reached the outskirts of town, Romano blindfolded him.

Then they began a long, arduous route. Alfred suspected that they were trying to throw him off, because he was sure that there weren't any winding paths outside of town. Alfred gave up after the tenth turn, and focused instead on not falling over when he came upon a bumpy part of the pavement.

At first they marched in silence, but seeing that he wasn't going to be hurt anytime soon, Alfred got the courage to speak.

"So, Romano...How did you and your brother end up on... different sides?" He had wanted to call Romano a traitor to the Empire, but on second thoughts, it probably wasn't a good idea to antagonise your captor.

For his troubles, he received a resounding whack on the head. "I'll thank you not to talk," Romano spat. His voice was tinged with bitterness as his grip on Alfred's arm tightened. Alfred could tell this was a touchy issue. "Hostages are meant to be fucking seen, not heard. And if England didn't want you in one pretty piece, I'll cut that dumb tongue out of your throat."

Calm down, Alfred thought. Jeez, what was up with Romano?

"The boy was curious, Romano," Spain said cheerfully. "You can't blame him for that."

"Oh, yes I can." Romano grumbled. "But more importantly, we're here: finally!"

Apparently, 'here' was the Pirate base. Alfred thought, semi-hysterically it must be admitted, that if he survived this, he could tell General Bonnefoy that their base lay on the outskirts of the town Lerem.

He could hear Romano muttering a few words to someone, and then a door opened and Alfred was in the Pirate base, a captured FIVER.

* * *

Alfred looked around him. He was in a dark and dank dungeon cell, with a huge metal door barring his way to freedom. Weak light, a pale imitation of the sunlight Alfred had felt on his face a few hours prior, shone in. Alfred pulled his knees closer to his body and shivered. Though the land outside was being probably being baked by the afternoon sun, the air in this place was cold as hell.

At least they had untied him and taken off the blindfold. But in place of the rope, a heavy metal chain attached his neck to a hook Alfred knew he would never be able to reach. They had taken his glasses as well which had somehow categorised itself under dangerous sharp objects. It was now that Alfred wished his degree was higher. Then...at least I won't see what they'll so to me.

He cradled his knees in his arms and rested his chin on them. Surely, someone would realised what had happened and help him? Commander Elizabeta, perhaps? She would surely notice something amiss if none of them returned to the base that night. That thought brought him some hope. He just needed to survive the night, then.

But that...would that even be possible? Alfred sighed. Without anything to occupy himself, his thoughts inadvertently wandered to the events of just now...

Against his will, it began to sink in. The false calm of the past hours imploded in the quiet of the dungeon cell.

He was useless, wasn't he? As a squad leader, as a FIVER...

Pap, Jack, Kotur, Maxim and Giro. They were all gone. Dead, killed in the space of mere minutes. He should have been next...but somehow...Human life...so fragile...Alfred felt a hysterical giggle bubbling from his chest as he struggled to repress the memories of what he had seen earlier. _T-this is it, isn't it? I-I'm going to snap here, go right off the deep end. And then I'll go to hell, and they'll punish me and I'll-  
_  
Alfred didn't know what he was thinking anymore, as he lay on the cold stone floor, eyes staring blankly at the dirty walls. He closed his eyes. "They're dead..." he murmured to the silence of the cell. His cheeks felt wet. Blood, dance and murder, he'd just witnessed. And he hadn't been able to do anything. Alfred thought of the bodies and that was more than enough to make him nauseous.

Pap's head, rolling away from its body, those eyes that promised madness and hatred…

Alfred crawled over and threw up into a bucket placed in the corner of the cell.

There was nothing he could do anymore. He was really useless, destined to die in a rebel base. If Alfred had been a little bit more quicker, if he had aimed a little better, he could have killed England. He could have saved everyone.

Instead, he was a failure. He had allowed everyone in his squad to die. But it was too late now. It would always be too late.

Alfred lay unmoving on the floor. He didn't see any point in escape. Why, when his squad mates were dead and their bodies being disposed of? Why, when he should be dead as well?

Time had no meaning for Alfred, as he lay on the cold stone floor and thought no more.

* * *

The cell door opened. Alfred found that he didn't really care.

"Get up, bastard." Romano said. "England and Prussia are waiting in the torture room."

Alfred allowed them to grab him roughly and escort him down a long corridor.

"Is he okay?" Spain asked worriedly. "I mean, he did just see his squad mates die."

Romano jabbed him. "Idiot! He's the enemy, don't have any sympathy for him!"

At last, they came to the torture room and tied Alfred to a tiny stool. Across the table sat the Pirate Captain- England, who was sprawled in his seat, wearing an expression like he owned the world. Upon Alfred's arrival, he calmly sipped tea from a dainty teacup. He smiled at Alfred, twisted amusement dancing in his emerald eyes. It was a terrible smile, one that promised a lifetime of pain. "Hello, FIVER. We're waiting for bloody Prussia. Bastard's late as usual." He brought the teacup to his lips again because asking, "So, how are you?"

Alfred looked around at his surroundings. Marble floor, whitewashed walls with some pictures of...lilies hammered on them. It looked like a normal room—if a normal room had torture instruments hanging on the wall. Alfred tried his best not to look at them, and instead gazed disinterestedly at England. The bullet wound from earlier was hardly visible. England had a ridiculously elaborate pirate-style jacket hanging off his shoulders over a white dress shirt and black jeans. He had taken off his cloak, revealing his face plus a pair of the thickest eyebrows that Alfred had ever seen. They resembled two caterpillars with absolutely no intentions of becoming butterflies.

"I asked you a question, brat." England snapped. Alfred realised with a start that when he was angry, the green in his eyes darkened to an almost black stormy swirl.

Alfred shrugged, groping for his calm facade. "About as fine, considering that I just—I just." He stuttered and couldn't continue.

"Lost all of your squad mates?" England asked. "Oh, that. Don't worry, you'll get over it. And if you don't, I'm fairly certain I can get you to change your mind."

Anger swelled up in Alfred. How dare England trivialise the deaths of his squad mates?

"I'm not telling you anything." Alfred told England.

"Why so hostile now?" England asked, raising a thick eyebrow "We have plenty of time later to yell at each other. Would you like some tea? It's Earl Grey, freshly brewed. Mios is famous for its incredible tea, it's a part of the reason why we stationed here."

"Coffee." Alfred said after a pause, then tried not to flinch when England's eyes immediately darkened.

"No coffee exists while I am Captain here." England growled out. "Coffee destroys your brain." England would have said something more, but he was interrupted by someone entering the door behind Alfred. Alfred turned his head as best his he could.

The newcomer had striking white hair and bright red eyes, and a sword swung by his side. Like England, he had a similar jacket over a gray uniform, and strangely enough, a tiny yellow bird sat on his shoulder. Alfred presumed that this was Prussia.

"You better not have started, England, 'cause that's not awesome." Prussia warned, sitting down next to England.

England rolled his eyes. "No, of course not."

There was a short pause before Prussia glanced at England. "Is your shoulder alright? 'Cos if you can't use it, our spars will be a lot less awesome than before." Prussia actually looked concerned as he leant over at poked at England's left shoulder, only to have his hand batted away dismissively. Prussia sighed and looked at Alfred.

"What's the brat's name?" Prussia asked.

"Why not you ask him?" England retorted.

"What's your name, child?" Prussia asked, turning to Alfred, who had been watching this silently.

Alfred considered, and then decided that there was no point in not telling. "Alfred," he said.

"Alfred," Prussia said thoughtfully, tapping his chin. "I knew an Alfred once. That was, of course, before I plunged my sword through his chest." He grinned at the end.

Alfred shifted uneasily in his chair, wishing that his bonds weren't so tight. He had almost forgotten about the fact that these people were murderers, that England had killed his squad mates single-handedly. Just now, England had seemed almost… human. Not someone who had murdered five people in cold blood just a few hours ago. And this new character, Prussia, was no different from England either. How could you talk about someone's death so offhandedly?

England met Alfred's defiant glare straight on, and laughed darkly. "Oh, I apologise for my rudeness. This goddamn narcissistic moron here is Prussia, and he will be the one in charge of your...treatment. If it comforts you, I offer my condolences, for his irritating voice will be what you'll be hearing most for the next few hours or so."

This earned a loud yell of indignation from Prussia.

Alfred glared at England. "If he's the one t-torturing me, what are you doing here? Or does the sight of blood make you so happy you have to come and watch, you sadistic bastard?"

Prussia shot him an annoyed look at that but England seemed to miss the insult entirely as he sighed and tilted his head, casting his eyes skyward dramatically. "Woe is me, for I have been assigned to make sure he does not end up killing you."

"FUCK NO! I already told you that the last time was an ACCIDENT!" Prussia snapped his fellow Pirate.

England sighed again and shot him a wry look. "So you...accidentally...gouged out his eyeballs. Forgive me if I fail to believe you," he said dryly.

"Oh ye of little faith..." Prussia turned away and muttered. England smirked, clearly having won this round and turned back to Alfred, clapping his hands together.

"Well, since it seems that you don't really want to drink tea, shall we move on from the preliminaries?" He asked, but he didn't need an answer. "Tell us all about the FIVERs plans, then."

Alfred shook his head.

"I thought so too," Prussia sneered, and then he leaned over the table and punched Alfred in the jaw.

"Ow!" Alfred screamed, shocked. He wished that he could rub it, but his hands were tied to the chair. His jaw throbbed, and he could taste blood- he had bitten his tongue. Through the pain, he glared at Prussia. "That wasn't heroic. Punching someone who's tied down."

"Well, from what I hear from Iceland, the six of you were planning on killing a mother and her child. That's so heroic, of course." England countered, and Alfred winced.

Prussia grinned widely as he walked over to Alfred and knelt in front of him, his face only several inches away from Alfred's own. Manical red eyes bore into blue, as he patted Alfred's cheek almost sympathetically. "Don't worry, love, you'll get a lot worse. You'll wish for punches by the time I'm done with you." he said.

Alfred slumped in his chair. He was trapped in an enemy base, his squad mates were—dead, and he was going to be treated to torture sessions. Hope, wherever it was, looked pretty much lost by now.

"Well," Prussia said in a singsong voice, smiling wickedly and standing up. "Are you sure you don't want to tell me about FIVER's plans?" He gestured to the side of the room that Alfred had been trying to avoid looking at- the wall where a huge array of torture instruments lay. Whips, ropes, something which looked like electrical wiring- all were hung there.

Alfred's momentary confidence completely left him. "I don't know anything," Alfred said. It was nothing but the truth after all. "They never said anything."

"Why were you sent here?"

"To spy on the Pirates. They didn't say anything else." Alfred said quickly.

Prussia rolled his eyes. "Sure." He leant over the table, the bird hopping off to strut on the table, while glaring at Alfred. "What do you know about us?"

"...You're a rebel group?"

"Thank you, Captain Obvious. Anything else?" England asked.

"Er, no." Alfred said.

"I don't believe you, sadly." Prussia declared. He grinned as he studied the torture devices the same way a woman would eye designer dresses while window shopping. "Let the torture begin!"

The next hour passed in a haze of pain. Alfred couldn't really remember what happened, only that whenever Prussia stood up and walked towards the weapon rack, it bode more agony.

At first, he had withstood it bravely. He hissed and spat at them, taunted them and tried to convince them that he really hadn't known anything, but after they had tried breaking his fingers, he had simply snapped. He had screamed at them of course, begged and begged them to stop because_ of all the people you can pick on I'm just a rookie andohgodpleasestopithurtssom uch-_

When they hadn't, he had curled up into himself and refused to talk altogether. He had nothing to say anyway. It was simply them who refused to believe him. His mind was a much nicer place to be in, and he could pretend that nothing was happening. That the white-haired bastard wasn't trying to carve holes into his arm, that England wasn't simply sipping tea and looking on bemusedly like this was some kind of show. That the fiery pain he felt when the knife cut into his skin was nothing more than a tickle. In the darkness of his mind, he was safe.

And now...now, they had finally stopped. What were then going to do with him now? Kill him? To his horror, he found that that actually hadn't sounded so bad. A boot prodded his arm. Somehow, he mustered the strength to glare at Prussia who leered at him.

"Still conscious, I see. Feisty, aren't you?" Prussia licked his bloody fingers and turned to England who had never even left his chair throughout the entire interrogation session. "Y'know what? I think he's telling the truth. He's really a nobody."

England refilled his teacup. "That is what I've been telling you after the first ten minutes. I remember the uniform now. He hasn't even been initiated properly. He isn't going to be of much use."

Prussia made a face. "Aw man, you're no fun."

Alfred glared at the both of them. They were just so infuriating but he had no energy left for anger. But if he went, he might as well go with a bang. "You won't escape this," he warned. "Commander Elizabeta is here in Lerem. She'll know if something's off and she'll wipe out your base along with all you bastards." It wasn't exactly the whole truth, given how quickly that one Pirate had disposed of his squadmates but still, he had to try.

His words didn't exactly have the effect he desired but they did have impact. Prussia went very still. "Elizabeta? Elizabeta is here in our headquarters?" he parroted incredulously, wide-eyed. Alfred nodded dumbly, unsure of how to place the albino's expression. He knows her? Just how many people in here have connections to FIVER? "Elizabeta..." Prussia whispered to himself as he turned around almost mechanically.

"Oh shi-" England leapt from his seat, jacket falling off his shoulders, teacup flying, at the same instant Prussia made a wild dash for the steel door. Alfred watched all of this, shocked. "Prussia, wait! You'll ruin the plan if you see her now!" England sprinted and launched himself at the white-haired man who didn't seem to have heard him. From the table, the yellow bird cheeped with alarm.

"PRUSSIA!" England seemed to have forgotten about his injured shoulder as his left hand latched onto Prussia's sleeve.

"That bastard! He promised me he wouldn't let her-" Prussia snarled at thin air. The taller man simply barreled forward, dragging the blond several steps, not noticing England's hiss of pain as blood started seeping through his white shirt.

"Prussia! I don't want to hurt you." England seemed almost desperate. "GILBERT!" he yelled, the green in his eyes disappearing almost completely. Alfred's eyes widened. So Gilbert's his real name, huh? That's actually...a pretty helpful piece of information.

That seemed to wake the white-haired man up. He jerked to a stop and froze. There was a short silence before he shakily turned around. And saw the blood that had stained England's entire left sleeve and his pained expression. His face whitened. He stumbled towards the blond, stuttering in a voice Alfred wouldn't have thought him capable of making, "O-oh god. England, I'm so sorry. I swear I didn't mean it. I was just worried for her, okay? I'm sorry. Your arm-"

England sighed and let go of the albino's sleeve. Cradling his left arm, he intoned, "I doubt that you could mean it." Seeing Prussia's guilt-stricken expression, he rolled his eyes. "I'm fine, honestly. And since we aren't planning any attacks any time soon, your precious Elizabeta is in the safest place possible. More importantly, what do we do with him?" he jerked his chin at Alfred.

Prussia's expression immediately brightened, which made Alfred wonder if he had multiple-personality disorder or something. His red eyes gleamed. "I know! Let's cut off his head, attach a nice card and send it to your ex-"

He never got to finish that word before a knife whizzed through the air several millimeters away from embedding itself in his skull. If England hadn't been angry earlier, he was now. And it was a cold kind of anger that seemed to seep into your bones. Even Alfred who was still trussed up the floor couldn't resist a shiver.

"I dare you to finish that sentence." England's tone could have frozen air.

Prussia raised his hands as if in surrender and backed away slowly. "I-I'm sorry." He apologised for the third time. Even at a distance, Alfred could see beads of sweat forming on his forehead. "I'm sorry, okay? It was a really bad joke."

England's expression was strained as he walked over stiffly and picked up his knife. "I need to help out in the kitchen now. Get Romano to clean the brat up and take him back to his cell. Even if he doesn't know anything about Bonnefoy's plans, he might still be useful. I will ask about it."

Prussia could only nod in silence as England shrugged on his jacket, heedless of his bleeding arm and stalked out. The door was slammed.

Alfred watched in confusion as the albino stood in silence. His fists were clenched and trembling slightly. I really can't understand the relationship between those two. Is he mad at England now? Before he could even decide to voice his question, Prussia turned around, fury blazing in his red eyes.

"You!" he hissed, taking a step forward. "It's all your fault for reminding England about all that! He usually isn't like that."

Alfred reeled back, unsure of what exactly he'd been accused of. Reminding England of what? His dead lover? Or what? He glanced questioningly at Prussia but the Pirate just glared at him one more time before stomping out of the door the same way England had gone. Alfred lay in silence, unsure of what they were going to do to him next.

Romano and Spain entered the room and Alfred, still on the floor, gazed groggily at them.

"Hmm, bastard's still awake? This one isn't so bad, is it?" Romano said before forcing something down his throat, and that was the last that Alfred saw.

* * *

England peered at his latest concoction in the pot. The picture of scones didn't look like this in the cookbook- they were less soggy and less... well, black.

The door behind him opened. Prussia walked up to the pot, shot him a wary look and stared at the contents. There was a clothespin pegging his nose, which was a regular occurrence whenever England cooked. "Hey England, about just now, the awesome me is sincerely so-" He was cut off as England whirled around, a "scone" in his hand.

"Taste it," England said hopefully. Maybe today, people would actually like his cooking...

Prussia's face morphed into an expression of extreme horror, as if England had asked him to murder Gilbird, but then England gazed meaningfully at his bandaged arm, and Prussia sighed. "Okay," he said, before gingerly taking a scone that England handed him. He stared at it cautiously, as if it might explode (it had before).

Against the better judgement of every taste bud in his tongue, he put it in his mouth.

England watched as Prussia turned bright green and sprinted for the nearest rubbish bin. The sound of retching filled the room for a few minutes, as Prussia tried to expel everything that had been in contact with the unfortunate scone.

When Prussia finally turned around to look at England, his face was completely white. Seeming not to notice this, England twirled a ladle in his hand. "Is it good?" he asked.

Prussia said shakily, "It's... it's salty."

"Oh, yes," England said. "We ran out of sugar, so I added salt instead. They're both white and look the same, anyway." England waved the ladle, spraying some liquid (Prussia didn't even want to know what it was) all over the kitchen.

Prussia spluttered. "W-White? But so is cyanide powder and self-raising flour!" he protested.

England ignored him. "Anyway, dinner is ready. Call everyone while I set the table, will you?"

When Spain, Romano and Prussia traipsed down to their doom, they found the table neatly set, with plates and dishes. Which was the best they could say about dinner, because they were pretty sure scones did not look black, and give off a putrid stench.

England, however, was nowhere in sight.

"Let's start," Prussia said, eying the scones warily, his usual pompousness washed away by the bleak imminent future. There was no point in delaying the inevitable, after all. The faster he stuffed these in his mouth, the faster he could throw it up in the bathroom.

With the same identical look of reluctance on their faces, Prussia, Romano and Spain started spooning large mouthfuls of "scone" into their mouths, tears of agony running down their cheeks.

England appeared then, meticulously carving an apple. "How is it?" he asked.

Romano stared at the knife in his hand- okay, it was a butter knife, but still. Looking back down at the black stuff on his plate, he couldn't help himself. "It fucking sucks." he mumbled.

"Beg pardon?" England smiled brilliantly, raising his knife. "I did not hear that, would you care to repeat it?"

Romano paled and shoved another spoonful of "scone" into his mouth. Trying not to gag, he said shakily, "I said it's really good!"

The toilet bowl, as was usual whenever England cooked, took a rather hard battering that night.

England stared at the half eaten food. Halfway through dinner, his fellow Pirates had all disappeared, muttering something about the toilet. England frowned. Maybe, next time, he'll add chilli sauce to spice up the flavour.

Well, there was no time to waste. Rolling up his sleeves, England started to soap the dishes, biting his lip as each movement of his hand sent a sharp throb through his shoulder. Clumsily wiping a fork clean, he started regretting his stubbornness at refusing Spain's offer to help. He had only learnt to do the dishes after he joined the Pirates, having never scrubbed a single plate throughout his pampered childhood. Well, not exactly pampered but still...

He thought about the FIVER who was still locked up in the cells. From what he'd seen, that Alfred had been the only one amongst the rookies who had actually thought about the situation back there. It was a pity that he'd been captured. He would have made it to at least a Captain had he stayed in FIVER. But his squadmates...he tried to push away the almost possessive anger that clouded his thoughts. _Just what is Francis doing? Accepting people like that into the programme, how desperate are we?_England immediately halted at the word "we", refusing to continue that train of thought.

He sighed. That blond FIVER, so bright-eyed, so loyal, so eager...so stupid, exactly like he had been when he had first joined..._No, no. I don't want to think about it._He was a part of the Pirates now. Whatever he had done in the past was over, and now, he was fighting against the people whom he had used to work with. England examined the last pristine plate, about to replace it onto its rack. After all, this is for a better cause, isn't it?

But try as he might he couldn't ignore the small part of his mind that whispered traitorously that everything he was doing here was for the sake of revenge. And that if a better opportunity to kill the whole lot of them was presented to him..._would I abandon the Pirates?  
_  
But then...those green eyes just like his who stared so pleadingly back at him, the blood...England felt a sudden wave of vertigo wash over him, as he grabbed at the counter top, steadying himself. The plate crashed to the floor, shattering in small pieces.

He stared at the broken pieces for a full half minute, before his dizziness passed. Bending down muttering a string of curses, he started to pick up the broken pieces. Only the future matters anymore. _I am England now, not the Swordartist, not FIVER General, not Arthur Kirkland._Disposing the broken ceramic, he stood up, eyes deathly cold.

_And I will have the whole world dead at my feet if I must._

Switching off the lights and leaving the kitchen, England started for the Captain Commander's office to report what had happened during the interrogation. The Captain Commander was a really strange person, England had decided that within the first week of his initiation into the Pirates. But he was the one who had started the whole Pirate affair after all and he had given England a home when England had been most desperate. And more importantly he had offered England the first step to accomplishing the only thing his life stood for. England would follow him.

Running a damp hand through his hair, England turned around another corner. When he'd first joined the Pirates, he'd wanted to lie low until the whole business about him had died down. He had not exactly understood what happened, but one day he had been sparring with Prussia and the next, he had been made a Captain. Well, at least the Captain Commander had made sure nothing about him had been leaked and that was more than he could ask for.

England stopped in front of an orientally decorated wooden door. "Come in, aru," a voice called from inside. England pushed the heavy doors open.

"Evening, Captain commander." England said formally, bowing slightly to the thin figure lounged sideways on a plush chair.

"Aru, what does that FIVER know?" China asked, cutting straight to the point.

"He doesn't know anything. Prussia tortured him pretty well, but he didn't spill anything." England said.

China sighed disappointedly. "Just as well, I've sent the Nordics- other than Iceland- on a counter reconnaissance mission in Jarn."

England nodded, and turned to go, but not before seeing a light flash in China's eyes. It filled him with a strange sense of foreboding. He tried to quicken his steps and get out of the room before whatever idea China just had was fully processed but he was too late.

"Wait, aru!" China called. "You could make friends with that FIVER!"

England stopped. "Excuse me?" he asked warily. China's ideas were often life-threatening, and he saw no difference with this one.

"Yes, you could make friends with him, convince him to become a Pirate and spy for us! Because he knows the most about the base right now!" China swept his legs off the arm of his chair and bounced excitedly in his seat.

England stared. "I know the base very well, thank you very much. I've spent seven years in there."

"It might have changed...And if we could forward his information to the Nordics, we could up their success rate." China said. England knew he had a point. _Francis wouldn't have missed a chance to waste money redecorating the place. And I liked the green of the lobby too..._

"We just tortured him. How are we supposed to make friends with him?" England pointed out, rolling his eyes. China was high on... something, he was sure.

"Aiyah, these things change. He could get... he could get what's that illness called? Sweden would know. Stock- something syndrome, aru."

"But..." England protested weakly, knowing nothing would change China's mind now. "I don't make friends with people."

"Do you trust Prussia, Spain, Romano or Iceland, aru?" China asked. England quickly ran it through his head. Spain would spill everything he knew about Pirates, Iceland was too cold, Romano would probably scream at Alfred all day and he didn't even want to think about what Prussia would do.

China took England's silence as consent. "Okay, aru!" he said with a huge smile. "You'll make friends with that FIVER, and he spy for us, aru?"

England's jaw dropped, but China was already dismissing him, pushing him out of the door.

England glared at the door. "Bloody hell," he swore. How on earth was he supposed to make friends with a FIVER he had just tortured?

* * *

England stomped down the stairs, scowling. Make friends with that FIVER... how was he supposed to? He didn't even know how to begin.

Had he ever made friends with someone? England thought back. No, not really. His childhood had been pretty isolated. Francis? Well, he had never proclaimed that idiot as a friend. Francis had been the one who bugged and pestered him until he agreed to consider him an acquaintance.

Prussia passed by then. "Oi, England. What did the panda bastard say?"

"He's our Captain commander, and he said that..." England hesitated. Should he tell Prussia?

"What did he say? We string him up and hang him from the fountain of Lerem?" Prussia said, rather hopefully.

"No, he asked me to make friends with him so that he could spy for us!" England huffed. "Me! Make friends with a FIVER! How am I even supposed to do that? How do you make friends?"

Prussia looked blank for a second before a predatory grin spread itself slowly across his face. "Y'know...simply making friends with that idiot is going to be hard."

England raised an eyebrow. Your point?

"...So, basically, what the panda bastard really wants you to do is to seduce him." Prussia eyed England up and down. "You certainly have the body to do it."

England flushed a deep red. "You sodding git!"

There was a loud yell as a white-haired albino tumbled down the stairs, executing perfect cartwheels that would have made a gymnast green with envy. However, he would have received zero points for landing when he crashed awkwardly on the floor two storeys down.

England yelled, "Wanker!" and stomped back up the stairs, going the opposite way.

Prussia groaned from the bottom of the stairs. Perhaps he should stop teasing England so much, but on the flipside (pun fully intended), it was so much fun. But he could never predict when England got too explosive though and those episodes almost never ended in charm and laughter.

For the sake of his aching back, he decided to get dodging lessons from Finland when he came back from the mission.

* * *

Alfred woke up. His arms, his legs, and every possible part of his body that could ache ached. The sharp pain of torture had worn off, thankfully, leaving behind the slow dull ache of wounds.

There was a plate of black things on the cell floor. It looked like typical prison fare, minus the wriggling worms. Oh wait, maybe it did have worms.

Alfred cautiously picked it up, which crumbled in his hand. He suddenly noticed that the plate was on an ant trail, and all the ants were studiously avoiding it. There was even a ring of dead ants around the plate.

...scary.

Alfred put a bit of it into his mouth and chewed it. It was passable, he supposed.

A few days passed in mind-numbing silence for Alfred. Other than the food (thank God it wasn't as bad as the first day's), delivered at periodic intervals, Alfred had no contact with humanity. Excepting the occasional rat, or cockroach and ant trails, he saw no sign of life.

For the most part, he was glad. The pain of torture had faded away, leaving behind throbbing joints and an aching body. Alfred had torn up his jacket to use for bandages, but in the cold nights, he fiercely regretted it. He also missed his spectacles, although there wasn't much to see in the dull dungeon cell.

Three days passed, in which absolutely nothing happened. While Alfred was relieved that nobody had come for him, it left him with too much time to think.

He was a captive in enemy grounds, which meant that he would probably die, especially since they couldn't get any information from him. Nobody would fight to break him out. He couldn't be ransomed, or anything of that sort: in fact, he was probably a liability to the Pirates. Prisoners took up food, required dungeons, and had an uncanny ability to escape.

It made him wonder: why weren't they doing anything? There was no point in leaving a prisoner alone: you either killed him, or found ways in which he could be useful. Even if they thought that he was still hiding information, they would have come to torture him. Alfred skipped over the memories that were threatening to resurface. So why weren't they coming to get him?

Alfred prayed that it was because they were distracted, and had forgotten all about him but the food kept coming and he knew that was not the case.

On the fourth day, Alfred's prayers were most definitely not answered.

There was a sharp clink as a key was inserted into its lock and the grating screech of metal as the door slid open. Alfred stared at the shadowed figure in the doorway with what he hoped were dull listless eyes. Green eyes stared back at him appraisingly.

"Get up, FIVER." England said. "We need to talk."

To Alfred's surprise, England didn't bother to handcuff him. Alfred didn't spend much time wondering why, but instead started plotting ways of escape.

"Don't bother, FIVER." England said, as if reading his mind. "I could think of twenty three ways of restraining you with two fingers alone."

Alfred paused mid-thought of a plan which included bombing up the Pirate base and flying out in a helicopter, and stared uneasily at England's hands. They didn't have the calluses that usually accompanied handling a sword, but Alfred had a sudden flashback to those hands wielding a rapier, cutting off Pap's head...

Right.

Alfred silently followed England through long corridors of gray, trying his best to memorise the layout. They had only walked a short while when England turned into a room. It wasn't the interrogation room, for which Alfred was truly glad for. Instead, it was a rather strange sitting room, decorated in checkered black and white. And by that, he meant that the walls were endless rows and columns of black and white squares. Two armchairs sat in the centre, one coloured white and the other coloured black. The table, in the middle, was checkered black and white as well. A kettle and two teacups sat on it.

Alfred felt rather dizzy just being in the room.

"I apologise for the colour scheme." England said. "Prussia thought it would be a good idea to redecorate. But in any case, please sit down."

Alfred chose the white armchair- the one closest to the door- and sat down, warily staring at England. What was England bringing him here for? As far as Alfred could see, there wasn't any reason as to why England would need him or want him for. Or if he did, wouldn't he be using force, not inviting him to sit down and 'talk'?

"Would you like some tea?" England asked, a near imitation of the first time they had talked, face to face. This time, Alfred knew better.

"Yeah." Alfred said.

England picked up a kettle on the table and filled two tea cups with tea. Alfred took it and almost immediately gagged. It was as bitter as wormwood, which figured- only England would take his tea without sugar.

"There's no sugar." Alfred spluttered.

"As tea should be." England said, glaring right back at Alfred.

Alfred frowned at England. Perhaps it wasn't very smart to antagonize your captor, but he didn't care. He wanted to show the Pirate Captain that he wasn't afraid of him.

"Why are you so angry?" England asked. "Are your injuries...still hurting?" The last question was phrased rather awkwardly, and England looked as if he would rather jump off a building, be thrown into a river with crocodiles _and_be suffocated to death by insects than be here.

"Er…" Alfred replied. "Why would you care?" he asked bluntly.

England didn't say anything, but withdrew from his jacket a familiar pair of spectacles. "I believe this is yours," he said shortly.

Alfred slid his spectacles on, welcoming the familiar comforting feel of the weight on his nose. He saw the room in greater clarity, not that he wanted to, since it gave his eyes a bigger headache. Still, it was good to have his spectacles back, Alfred thought.

"Thank you." Alfred said. "But... why?"

England shrugged. "Does there have to be a reason for everything?" he asked, his eyes darting to the wall behind Alfred_. This guy is such a terrible liar._Alfred briefly wondered how he could even become a Captain of a rebel organisation.

There was an awkward silence in the room, as two vastly disparate people tried to figure out the situation and how exactly to proceed. One tried to figure out if he should make a run for it, and save himself from this terrible fate. The other one was Alfred.

At last, England broke the silence. "Tell me more about yourself."

"Huh?" Alfred stuttered at the sudden demand, ever eloquent.

"Bloody hell, FIVER, would it kill you to even talk about yourself?" England spluttered. "Most people enjoy it, you know."

Alfred didn't really see any harm in it. After all, how could England use it against him?

"I was born in the Capitol twenty years ago, on July 4th. My dad is a police officer, and my mom stayed at home to take care of me and my brother-"

"My brother and I," England corrected almost immediately.

Alfred looked with mystification at England. So England was very particular about his language, huh. _Arrogant noble brat with a ten meter long stick up his ass._

Alfred continued. "To take care of my brother and I. So since young, I always heard my dad talk about the work he had to do to upkeep peace and keep everyone safe at home. I thought he was a hero, and so I wanted to be a hero as well." Alfred's face brightened as he talked about his dream. "Then I went to this airshow, and they introduced the FIVERs to me. It was... amazing. They had these awesome planes and they protected Undine from the enemy. They were exactly like heroes."

"So that was the day I decided to become a FIVER-" Alfred proclaimed, when he finally noticed that England's shoulders were shaking. With silent laughter. He glared at the Pirate. No one makes fun of his dream. No one. "What's so funny!"

England's eyes shone with bitter amusement. "You really believe that FIVERs are heroes? You really think that they have done good to the country of Undine?" England sneered. With every word, his expression seemed to grow uglier. "It's about time you woke up, rookie, because FIVERs have always been representation of everything bad about this godforsaken country."

"What do you mean?" Alfred asked, anger boiling up in him.

"Newsflash, rookie." England said. "Do you know what the purpose of FIVER is?" Without bothering to wait for an answer, he continued. "FIVER was created in order to crush all of Undine's surrounding countries into submission. It was built to scare Undine's population into silence. Of course, this is carried out via homicide—" here England paused to spit with venom at Alfred, "Can't process this? It means you murder, you worthless swine. Just like you and your gang were going to kill that woman and her child."

Alfred said nothing, frozen in place as England continued ranting.

"Also, FIVERs have colonised pretty much the rest of the world. The 'enemies' you said FIVERs protected Undine from?" England gave a bitter laugh. "We have killed their children. W-They razed their buildings and temples to the ground, and raped their women- all to stake the Undine flag on their territory. Is this really so heroic?"

England stood up and smiled darkly at Alfred. "So I hope, that while you're killing innocent children and robbing victims of their god-given land, you think you're heroic."

Before he knew it, Alfred was standing up too, shouting at England. "How about you? All five of my squad mates, every one of them, dead! You killed them, without any thought whatsoever. How can you pretend to be so… so high and mighty when you have their blood on your hands?"

England spat back, "I never said I was heroic, unlike you. And anyway, are you really so much better than me?"

Alfred shook his head. "No matter what you said the FIVERs did, which I ain't believing in the first place, I have never killed anyone. I have never caused injury to an innocent." He said with conviction.

"No, you haven't." England acquiesced. Then he laughed. "It was only your first mission out, after all. And what did you do?"

England, for the first time, stared Alfred directly in the eye. "You stood by as your squad mates attempted murder."

* * *

England paced in the parlor while Prussia sat. Prussia wasn't exactly best listening material, but there was no way he could talk to Spain, Romano or China, for obvious reasons.

The parlor had been decorated by England himself, thank god. It was wallpapered green, the exact shade of the lobby in the FIVER base. There was a table with kettle and tea bags, something England had personally seen to. Sofas and armchairs faced each other in a concentric circle, with an elaborate table the centrepiece. The gentle aroma of green tea was soothing, but unfortunately, it did nothing for England's nerves as he recounted what had happened.

"And after that, we didn't have anything to say. I brought him back to his cell and that was that." England said.

"You should have gone according to the awesome plan and just seduced him. Good sex brings out the worst in someone." Prussia pointed out.

"There was no such plan!" England spluttered. "But back to the point, how am I supposed to build a relationship with him now? It's ruined!"

"Just. Seduce. Him." Prussia drawled out, tapping his fingers against the arm rest.

"NO!" England shouted. "SHUT UP! AND I AM NOT GOING TO SEDUCE THAT GIT!" He kicked the nearest sofa for emphasis, nearly upsetting it.

Prussia sighed, knowing that his fun was over. He leant forward. "Look, England, this happens all the time. Friendships have their ups and downs, and this is no different. Take it from the awesome me."

"Friendship doesn't usually start with one killing all of the other's squad mates and subsequently torturing him." England pointed out drily.

"All just part of the bumps." Prussia declared. "You'll be friends- not quite as awesome as me, but good enough. Besides, you never tortured him. _I_did."

"But… but how?" England asked, finally plopping down in the other chair. He sighed. "I just managed to insult his beloved FIVER, as well as imply that he was going to be a murderer, all in the same breath."

"You're overthinking this, England." Prussia said. "Just be awesome… hmm, a bit hard, but your awesomeness will dazzle the rookie and he'll be friends with you! Easy."

England looked at Prussia with scepticism. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Then he looked intently at Prussia, as if re-evaluating him. Prussia didn't think he would like what was coming out of England's mouth.

"You know, Prussia, since you proclaim that awesomeness is all that's needed to build a friendship, you could be friends with him instead." England said.

Prussia was already shaking his head. "No, England. I am too awesome for that."

England raised his huge eyebrows at the implied insult, but didn't say anything.

"I would almost rather storm into FIVER's Lerem base and rescue Elizabeta than touch that moron who breathes the same air as _he_does." Prussia said. "Not that I wouldn't succeed, of course."

England sighed. "About that…" he hesitated, not knowing what to ask. 'Are you okay' didn't quite seem to cut it with this egoistic character.

"Don't worry about me!" Prussia said, pre-empting England. He thumped his chest, smiling widely. "Geez, old man, I'm always awesome. I'm not worried or scared about Elizabeta at all. Not at all!"

With a strangely off-colour laugh, Prussia stood up and strode out of the parlor.

England sighed, vowing to keep a better watch on Prussia.

* * *

Was it really true? Alfred wondered, staring at the ceiling from where he lay. Could FIVERs really be that evil?

If anyone had told Alfred that a few weeks ago, he would have laughed in their faces and told them that they were just jealous. But in the space of a week, he had seen so much.

Think about it, Alfred, a voice that sounded strangely like England lectured. If five FIVER rookies can find it in them to murder someone over what they said, why not the Subcommanders? Why not the Commanders? Why not the General?

Alfred remembered the story of General Arthur Kirkland. It seemed like an eternity had passed since he heard it, even though it was only six days ago. He had killed three hundred all by himself, in a single night. Who knew how many more he had killed? Alfred had thought that he was the anomaly, the one who had snapped from the stress of being a General.

Perhaps he was a reflection of the rest of FIVER. Perhaps FIVER was as cruel and evil as the Pirates were.

No! I don't believe it! Alfred denied. Surely there must be good FIVERs in the world. There must be those who had protected Undine from evil in the world. His father, the best police officer in the world, had always told him that FIVERs were the elite and the best. They didn't do the usual duties that civilian police had, but they flew to other countries and fought those who wanted to invade Undine. They were incredibly brave and without them, Undine would be conquered. _They bought us our future with their lives,_ Dad had told him the night before he left for FIVER rookie training. _Protect it._

Yes! Alfred thought triumphantly. There must be some good wrought by FIVERs, right? His Dad and Mom were so proud of him when he had become a FIVER rookie. Everyone in the Capitol worshipped FIVERs. Surely they weren't wrong? There must be heroic FIVERs, just like he was trying to be.

Then England's last words occurred to him. "You stood by as your squad mates attempted murder."

Alfred put his head into his hands. He had always wished to be a hero, to save lives and to protect the innocent. Yet what had he turned out to be? What had his mission turned out to be?

Alfred still remembered the fear and distrust in the woman's eyes. Doug's cries of "please don't". Her rant against FIVERs and the Emperor. Was it all the truth?

Maybe, just maybe, FIVER was truly an evil and corrupt organisation.

* * *

A day later, England decided to find the rookie again. With him, he brought along an extra jacket, remembering the cold nights in the dungeons. Hopefully, they could restart whatever semblance of a friendship they had.

The FIVER looked up from the floor where he sat as he opened the dungeon door. It was afternoon, but it was already so cold. England briefly wondered how he had managed to survive the night without any jacket.

"Hello," Alfred said cautiously, tilting his grimy spectacles to see England better.

"Here." England said, thrusting the jacket at Alfred. "For you."

Alfred hesitated, but he took it. "An apology?" he asked, rather hopefully.

"This is a peace offering." England stated firmly, then immediately berated himself. "Er… I mean, yes, you could take it as an apology if you want."

Leaving the dungeon door open, England sat down next to it on the dirty cell floor.

Alfred watched him, open-mouthed. "What are you doing?"

"Sitting down." England informed him. "What else?"

"No, I meant, what are you doing here?" Alfred asked.

England shrugged. "I thought you might be more comfortable talking in this environment." He offered, waving his hand around the cell. "Black and white tends to jar the senses."

Without meaning to, Alfred laughed at that. Then he looked surprised at himself.

There was a silence in the dungeon cell, but it was less awkward than any silence preceding it had been. England counted it as a victory.

He looked around the cell. To his surprise, he saw writing on the wall. So the rookie was pretty educated- he knew how to read and write, and he had known of Earthland countries.

England stood up to study the walls, although he still kept a firm watch on the FIVER's movements, in case he did try to make a run for it.

"Don't read that-" Alfred said uncomfortably. "It's…" _Private._

England paid no attention to Alfred, but instead turned his attention to the wall. He traced the words with a gentle finger. "Don't run, FIVER. I am watching you raise your right hand now."

Alfred's hand paused mid-air where he was going to rub his head. How had England seen him when his back was turned towards him? No one, not even his platoon captain, could have done that.

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity." England read aloud. Despite himself, Alfred was struck by how the words flowed through England's mouth like water through a river. The words, which were like dead butterflies pinned unto the wall, seemed to come alive in England's voice, spinning a tale in that dank and dreary dungeon.

Alfred was so caught up in England's recitation, it didn't register at first that England was continuing. "It was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair."

England turned towards Alfred, a half-smile on his face. "An appropriate quote for today's world." He said. If they hadn't been in a dungeon cell, and England wasn't a Pirate Captain, Alfred would have thought him to be a literature teacher.

"How did you know the rest of the quote? I forgot the next part, so I never wrote it on the wall." Alfred said, gaping at England.

"Is it so hard to believe that some people are educated?" England asked. "Dickens was a great writer." He turned back to the wall, intently studying the rest of the quotes. "Recalled to life," he mused. "A parallel to you, I suppose, but you haven't been imprisoned for eighteen years, have you?

"I may be," Alfred replied sullenly.

"But you're not." England said. "Don't trust the writing on the wall." He laughed at that.

"That was a truly horrible pun," Alfred said.

England moved to another part of the wall where more untidy words were scrawled. "That glorious vision of doing good is so often the sanguine mirage of so many good minds." England read out, ignoring Alfred. He turned around to regard Alfred. "I see you are capable of reflection, after all. Have you changed your mind about FIVER?"

Alfred froze. "Let's not talk about that," he said. "I don't… I don't know what to believe in any more."

England nodded, and settled down near the door, although he was considerably closer to Alfred than before. "At least you've read Dickens." He noted, changing the subject. "So many people nowadays don't even know him."

"I didn't choose to read it," Alfred admitted. "And had I not found it underneath my bed when I moved in, I probably never would. Some rookie before me left it there. It's how I learnt about England and France and other Earthland countries.

"I see," England said, eyes distant. Alfred was probably talking about his book, the one he had left behind when he had moved bunks_. Under the bed huh..._he mused. _Maybe that's why I couldn't find it.  
_  
_"Why do you like this book so much?"_

"You stupid frog, you don't know how to appreciate good literature!"

"If you're England, then I'll be France, yes? Then this book will be about us."

"It's the Tale of Two Cities, not the Tale of Two Countries, bastard."

"So you agree with me!"

"England?" Alfred waved his hand in front of England's face. "You're kind of spaced out…"

Within half a second, England had leapt up and Alfred found himself flipped over and wrapped in an armlock on the floor. "England!" Alfred shouted.

England held him like that for a moment before releasing him and slowly getting up. "Right, sorry." England apologised. "Reflexes."

"It's okay," Alfred said automatically, even though he never really wanted to know how the dungeon floor tasted like.

"Where's that book now?" England asked before he could catch himself.

"Oh, I left it in the base." Alfred said, his eyes clouding over. "I suppose the next generation of rookies will find it and read it."

England sighed at the thought of his book being dirtied by ignorant FIVER rookies. It had been one of the few possessions he truly regretted losing. He looked up and noticed Alfred's confused stare.

_Damn_.

"About the story...Do you agree with Carton's actions at the end of the book?" England asked, hoping to deflect Alfred's attention.

"Yes! Carton was being noble by sacrificing himself. His death allowed Darnay and Lucie and their child to live happily ever after. He wasn't a very good person at first, but he became a hero." Alfred said, smiling with certainty. "He sacrificed himself to make Lucie happy and allow her family to survive so he redeemed himself in the end."

England disagreed, "Why did he have to die for Darnay? He needn't have, you know. He could have just chosen to live, and maybe Lucie would have loved him in the end. Instead, he chose to take such a huge risk in swapping with Darnay. He could have been caught any time, and both killed, and then what would you do?"

Alfred shook his head. "No, Carton knew that Lucie loved Darnay, so he let himself be guillotined so that Darnay could be saved and she could be happy. Wouldn't you sacrifice yourself for someone you love, no matter what?"

England said nothing.

"Oh wait," Alfred said, eyeing England. "Do you even have someone you love?"

England forced a sardonic laugh. "What do you think?"

"You've never loved someone?" Alfred said incredulously. "No wonder you can't understand Carton."

"The smart thing for him was to just leave Darnay to his fate," England pointed out, ignoring Alfred's comment. "Lucie could have started over with him."

"No, it wasn't the smart thing." Alfred said. "It was the right thing."

England sighed, and got up. "In this world, there is no right or wrong thing, rookie." He warned. "There are only actions which ensure your survival. Good night."

With that, he left the dungeon cell, closing and locking it, leaving Alfred behind with unanswered questions.

England sat down.

"So how's it going, aru?" China asked eagerly.

"Not so good," England admitted, leaning back into his chair. "We are too different. He'll take a while to come around."

"Ah, don't worry about that, aru." China said sagely. "He'll be friends with you. I can predict it!"

England nearly rolled his eyes. China was always going on about how he could predict the future and read people. Not that he had been wrong so far, but still, England remained skeptical.

"If you say so, Commander." England replied dubiously.

"In any case, the Nordics have reported back to me, aru." China said. "They tell me that there has been a big influx of rookies lately. That rookie we captured was among that batch. Altogether, the number of rookies more than matches the number of FIVERs you-" here China paused to cough delicately. "you took out two years ago."

"So they're expanding," England mused. "But why would Francis want to do that?"

"It could be because of the increase in our activity," China pointed out. "That last mission along the Mios clearly provoked a response- they sent the FIVER squad to spy on us, didn't they?"

"Yes, an extremely inexperienced group of FIVER rookies who had only been in training for a few months. They clearly had never heard of the term 'espionage'." England grumbled.

"They still could have posed a threat." China said. "And Francis would have heard of their disappearance by now. When was their plane back?"

"Five days after… which was a day ago." England said.

"They'll realise they are missing and figure it out, aru! Despite what you say, Francis is still smart. He'll put two and two together aru, and he'll realise that we must have a base in Lerem. And with his huge increase in numbers…we may have to move."

"No, we won't have to move just yet. Francis has always been overly cautious. In times like this, he'll want to confirm information about us before initiating an attack. We cannot let information leak out any further. Once Francis hears what he needs to know..." England trailed off.

"They'll send a huge squad to Lerem, aru." China concurred. "The risk that they find us is too great. If they do, they may overwhelm us and that would be the end of Pirates, aru. That squad you took out would be nothing compared to it." China sighed. "We may have to move back to the main base if this continues."

England nodded. "So we have to lie low. Francis will wait to see any suspicious activity before he closes in on us."

"Hmmm...I'll contact the Nordics and tell them to keep their eyes peeled for when they are coming, aru." China said, his eyes unfocused.

"What do we do with the rookie?" England asked.

"He is of not much use any more, aru. He could get us discovered." China said thoughtfully. "Should we just kill him?"

"Not yet." England hesitated and said. _He's the first person I've met who actually knows something about classic literature and I do actually want to hear his complete thoughts about the ending._"I mean, he could be of use still, especially since we know what Francis's plan is."

China raised his eyebrows at that. "Well, I suppose he could still spy for us, especially if Francis thinks he is dead…"

England nodded, trying to pretend that he didn't feel a sense of relief.

"We have a lot of work to do, aru." China said. "I'll contact the Nordics first, and we have to find a way to move Iceland in case we do leave. Go inform the rest of the latest development. We also need to find a way to contact the others untraced."

England nodded in assent, and turned to leave.

"England, wait!" China called. England paused and looked back enquiringly at his superior. China hesitated, seeming to choose his words carefully. "Try not to fall in love with the FIVER rookie." He said at last.

England stared at him and laughed at that. "That git? He's stupid and idealistic and naïve. How could I even like him?" He shook his head, before striding out of the room and closing the door.

China regarded England's retreating figure thoughtfully. "It's yuanfen, aru." He said to himself. "One can't stop fate when it has decided."

* * *

I apologise to those who have yet to read the Tale of Two Cities. Basically, "recalled to life" is a phrase that is used to describe one of the characters who has been imprisoned for eighteen years and is now being freed. At the end of the story, Carton swaps with Darnay and is guillotined in his place. This is because Carton loves Lucie, but she loves Darnay (who is her husband) and so he sacrifices himself to make her happy. This takes place in Paris during the French Revolution, but Darnay, Carton and Lucie live in London.

Also, yuanfen refers to the Chinese concept of fate, ie: you are destined to meet your loved one.

**A/N**: That is the second chapter, folks!  
Thank you and please continue to support us!


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